


Guilty By Association

by BlueSpectre



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss uses gender neutral pronouns, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Gang Violence, Grief/Mourning, Johnny Is A Cop AU, Murder, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Smoking, Swearing, non-binary boss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSpectre/pseuds/BlueSpectre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny Gat's been a police officer for the Stilwater PD for the past twelve years, only just recently being transferred to Steelport a few months before.<br/>Everyone thought that things were going to finally calm down once the notorious Third Street Saints had been wiped out, including Johnny. But it goes to show that once one evil has been eliminated, another takes it place.<br/>And sometimes, that evil is worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Officer Gat

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

The wall clock that sat over the TV clicked on and on, forever keeping the wrong time as the result of never being set ahead or behind during daylight savings time. Besides, with the intervention of smartphones, who the hell needed wall clocks anymore?

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

The thing was useless and he never looked at it, but he couldn't _live_ without it. He couldn't live without its sound. He tried one night a few months back, the batteries died and he didn't feel like buying new ones. So he took it off the wall and shoved it in the closet for the time being - the apartment building he lived in had a strict policy against going out to the dumpsters after nine, seeing as they sat in a shitty neighborhood.

But without that ticking to focus on he heard _everything_ else that went on in the complex. The neighbor next door that had their TV on just a hair too loud, the couple below him having a heated argument, - or really angry sex, it was hard to tell sometimes - the footsteps above him that sounded like someone was practicing a tap dancing routine.

The cars outside as they zoomed past each other on the road, honking their horns at the traffic even though they knew it was a wasted endeavor.

It drove him fucking _nuts._

He went as far as to drive to the 24 hour drugstore at two in the morning and buy a pack of double A’s. The clerk looked at the man in his tank top and sweatpants and sunglasses like they'd never seen another human being before.

 _“Fucking say something,”_ he'd thought. _“Make my night.”_

The kid ended up ringing up the batteries and wishing him a good night. If only the kid knew that he'd return to his shitty apartment and dig out some stupid clock and bring it back to life so he could sleep.

Some people had white noise makers, others had floor fans, and some even listened to music.

Then there was Johnny Gat. He relied on a fucking clock.

Aisha had asked him about it being so wrong when she was over a while ago. He just told her that he was too lazy to correct it and had gotten too used to the noise to get rid of it.

Wasn't the complete truth, but he didn't necessarily lie to her either. He just didn't tell her about the sleeping bit because he wasn't looking to get laughed at.

She offered to set the time on it for him, to which he refused. Saying there was no need for her to - ironically - waste her time trying to get it down and back up again. Aisha had shrugged and made him cuddle with her on the couch. Normally he'd deny the request with anyone else, but there was something about that girl that made him so _weak_ that he couldn't.

Shit. He'd been trying not to think about her.

Johnny pressed in the power button on his phone to check the time; 5:30 AM. Half an hour before his alarm went off to start getting ready for work. A notification then popped up telling him that his phone was charged and advised him to unplug it to “conserve energy”.

He never gave a shit about energy conservation. He never bothered to unplug it until he left the apartment.

Johnny found himself unable to fall back asleep no matter how much he focused on the clock’s ticking. He wanted to milk those last thirty minutes as much as he could. He'd been sleeping like shit lately and any extra sleep he got was more than welcome.

But he quickly knew it was a wasted effort and, with a dissatisfied groan, got up to start his day.

The day started with a shower, the water made to be as hot as it could go - which wasn't very, to be fair, the hot water tank in this place was a piece of shit - and allowing the heat to soak through his sore body.

Johnny was in good shape for a man in his position. Thirty-seven years old, worked out everyday for as long as he could and had thick and taut muscle that wired along his entire body to show for it. Could outrun a cheetah if he put his mind to it.

  
Tried to eat healthy but his trips to Freckle Bitches became more often than not lately. He just worked off the fast food burger and fries, it wasn't that big of a deal.

  
But he wasn't without his scars. Some old enough that he even forgot where they came from, and some so new that they threatened to reopen if he wasn't careful. He'd been shot, stabbed, burned, and bruised but he always picked himself back up and kept going.

  
Had to, especially when you've been a cop for the past twelve years.

He started washing his hair hair once the water began to cool down and the knob couldn't go any higher. Shampoo was running low, he made a mental note to buy more later.

Johnny puts the gel in his hair before blow drying it, it was his secret to keeping it done how he liked it but still soft. He shaved away the five-o'clock shadow and dabbed the aftershave onto his neck, wondering, if only for a moment, where he could find the cologne the bouncers at Tee'N’Ay used.

He then shook his head to clear the thought. If he wanted to smell like a strip club, he could just _go_ to a strip club. Wasn't like there was a shortage around here.

The cop rolled his eyes with a groan when he heard his alarm go off. Wasn't the first time he had forgotten to turn it off, wouldn't be the last. Whatever, it would die out eventually and tell him he missed it.

_“Pierce Washington and “Shaundi”, lieutenants of the Third Street Saints, are set to attend their last court hearing today at nine AM,”_

Johnny had turned the TV on after he had gotten dressed, standing in the poor excuse for a kitchen waiting for his coffee to finish brewing. The only channel that didn't shit out on that TV was channel 8, the news.

Mostly, he had it on for background noise in the mornings, but something interesting cropped up every once in a while.

_“While the offending lawyer, one Dennis Adkins, is pushing for the death penalty, the Saints’ lawyer, Michael Lengths, was quoted saying this;_

_“There is no proof of Pierce and Shaundi committing these fifty accounts of aggravated murder aside from a few eye witnesses. And those witnesses’ stories are all jumbled and don't add up to the evidence we have. They keep changing their story. The two of them have only been proven guilty of drug trafficking and only deserve the appropriate amount of jail time like any other common criminal.”_

_When our team met up with the notorious gang’s lieutenants, neither of them answered our questions. Shaundi had even spit into one of the cameras when we got too close.”_

Gat chuckled as he brought a mug to his lips.

_“In other related news, even after extensive search through the freight plane that had crashed just weeks ago, the body of the Third Street Saints’ leader could not be found and identified. Captain Mark Burns, of the Steelport Police Department, has declared the infamous “Stilwater Butcher” dead and no further investigation on their whereabouts will be headed._

_In hindsight, the Steelport PD will be recognizing one of their own, Lieutenant Johnathan Gat, for his responsibility of capturing Pierce and Shaundi and with it, the Saints’ hope to rise again._

_We here at the station would like to personally thank officer Gat for bringing down the menace that was the Third Street Saints. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, for taking these criminals to justice and making Steelport safe once again-”_

Johnny turned the TV off.

“Blow me.” he grumbled. He hadn't been the only one involved in taking those two down, but of course he gets all the goddamn credit because he's Burns’ right hand.

Pierce and Shaundi weren't “common criminals” like their lawyer had said, - that term being a loose one for any attorney in this city - they were dangerous, deadly, and extremely intelligent people who had a knack for killing anyone in their way. Be they cop, civilian, or even anyone in their gang that looked at them funny.

Not to mention the gang wars. Johnny remembered how they ran out gangs like the Ronin, Vice Kings, and other low profile gangs like the West side Rollerz. He also remembered the absolute slaughter that was the obliteration of the Brotherhood. They hadn't been gentle with them, they were brutal and merciless and if he remembered correctly, it was because they had killed one of their members that they were all close with.

Pierce and Shaundi had given Johnny and his team a run for their money for an entire month. Common criminals didn't do that. They _couldn't_ do that.

But he digressed. The publicity he's gotten because of this case has been really pissing him off. He was a cop, not a fucking celebrity.

The phone buzzed in his hand as he walked down the four flights of stairs to the apartment parking lot. A text. Specifically, from his partner, Isaac Cox.

 _“As usual, you get all of the credit.”_ He must have been watching the news.

 _“As usual I dont fucking want it”_ Johnny responded, not bothering to add proper punctuation. Before it was because he didn't feel like it, now he does it because he knows it pisses Isaac off.

It was always satisfying when the man sent back a text correcting Johnny's grammar.

* * *

 

“Hi Johnny!”

He jumped in his chair when the overly excited officer popper up over his desk.

“Hey, Jules.”

Julia Peters. She was one of the last officers in this entire precinct that actually still have a damn about their job and the people they supposedly protected. Johnny was always sweet on her, but it never went past harmless flirting. He respected her too much to fuck anything up with meaningless sex.

She was attractive, long brown hair that came down past her shoulders that she kept tied in a bun most of the time. Her eyes reminded him of topaz gems and she had a slim but muscular face and a little black mole above the left side of her upper lip. Johnny always thought it was cute.

Julia was also one of the only officers that could keep up with him in terms of strength. Nearly broke Isaac's wrist when they arm wrestled last week.

The female officer clicked her tongue in disapproval when she looked at Johnny's phone, which was already at eighty percent battery life.

“You left this plugged in too long again, didn't you?” she asked and Johnny just shrugged. “You're killing your phone.”

“Don't bother trying to scold him, Julie. You know it's like talking to a brick wall.” Isaac came over and sat on the corner of Johnny's desk, his skinny ass barely taking up any space. “Or telling a dog not to hump your leg. Gonna do it anyway. They just do it to establish dominance.”

“I don't need to,” Johnny countered. “You're already my bitch.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and made a noise of disgust that sounded like he coughed something up.

The guy was older than Johnny by only five years but he showed every damn one of them. His eyes were the colour of mud and crows feet had clawed in deep at their corners. His once black hair was now the colour of ash and it sat on his head in heavy, unkempt strands that fell a little past his ears. He had a long and boney face that was so sharp it threatened to cut anyone that touched it.

Isaac's uniform was slightly too big for his small frame but they didn't have anything smaller and he was too cheap to get it tailored. His wedding ring would just slip off his long and slim fingers so he wore it on a chain around his neck instead.

Not to mention, the guy looked like he was one scare away from a stroke. Johnny prayed he didn't end up looking _that_ fucked up when he was forty-two.

“You look like you've gained a little weight,” Julia said hopefully. Isaac shook his head and she deflated. She tried.

Gat stood up from his desk chair and stretched his arms over his head, feeling his shirt slip over his stomach slightly. “Yo, we got any food here?” It had just occurred to him that all he had for breakfast this morning was a cup of coffee.

“I think there's still bagels and donuts over by the coffee,” Julia said.

“Unless Burns got to them first.” Isaac snorted.

Johnny left his friends to their own devices and sauntered his way over to the station’s coffee bar. Burns said they didn't have the funds in the budget to fix the peeling and cracked walls and replace the burned out fluorescent lights, or get computers that didn't go obsolete four years ago and took ten minutes to start up. But he could afford three Keurig machines and a shit ton of food everyday.

Civilian tax dollars well spent.

He was in the middle of brewing himself another cup of coffee and had a bagel in his mouth when Chief Burns stepped up next to him.

“John,” he said in a disinterested tone, spreading a large wad of cream cheese onto half of his own bagel. Johnny said something that sounded like “Chief,” but was muffled by the breakfast food in his mouth. Burns rolled his eyes.

“Take that shit out of your mouth when you speak to me.”

He spoke with that voice of superiority that Gat absolutely fucking despised. Burns didn't  have that much of a leverage on him when it came to rank. If he were to keel over from all the junk shit he stuffed himself with, Johnny would take his place within the hour. But the chief still talked to the lieutenant like he was a rookie that couldn't find his gun from his taser.

At least Johnny could see his fucking feet while he was standing up.

Nevertheless, he took the bagel out of his mouth and put it on a napkin.

“Something I can do for you, chief?” Johnny asked, his voice tense. He already wanted this conversation to end.

“Yeah, Burns snapped his head towards his right hand man. “You could get off your ass and do something useful.”

 _“You're a fine fucking one to talk,”_ Johnny stopped himself before his thoughts became his words.

“Give me a case and I will,” he said instead, his voice growing colder. “Haven't given me or Isaac jack shit to do since the Saints were still runnin’ around.”

“Who the fuck says you can't go out and do something yourself, huh?” Burns asked. “You're a big boy, John. You don't me to hold your hand.”

“The rules say otherwise,” Gat retorted.

“ _Who's_ fuckin’ rules?”

“Yours.”

The chief opened his mouth to, no doubt, spout some bullshit about how he never made such a rule, but was interrupted by the blaring voice on Johnny's radio.

_“We've got a 211 at Steelport Federal Bank, suspects are armed and there are hostages involved.”_

Johnny was already rushing through the station before dispatch even finished their report. Isaac was waiting by the door and handed his partner his gun as they rushed out into the parking lot.

_“Two of the hostages are dead, it is unknown how many civilians are trapped inside along with the number of suspects involved.”_

Johnny and Isaac jumped into their squad car and peeled out of the lot with the sirens screaming.

 _“Game on,”_ Johnny thought.


	2. And the Veil Falls

Johnny and Isaac were one of the few to arrive first and despite the emergency, Isaac still loudly criticized Johnny’s “fast and furious” driving to get there. They jumped out of the sideways parked squad car and hid behind it, brandishing their guns and holding them out over the hood of the vehicle. Isaac moved to the back of the car and rested his hoisted elbows on the trunk. Within seconds of getting into position, three more squad cars came to a screeching halt behind them, all settling into a similar position.

“We have the building surrounded!” said the captain of the SWAT team through a megaphone. Johnny had heard this speech a thousand times before, on the job and on TV. The people who say a cop on TV is nothing like being a cop in real life have obviously never been a cop or don't know anyone who is.

He was so busy contemplating the cliché line when he completely missed the rest of it, snapping back into reality when he heard gunshots and screaming inside of the bank.

To everyone's surprise, the suspects _did_ come out but Johnny's eyes widened behind his sunglasses when he saw the uzies come out with them.

“Get down!” he shouted before they were sprayed by a veil of bullets. He took a graze to the shoulder and he hissed viciously. These weren't common thugs that just decided to rob a federal bank, they were too fearless to be new at this. They came out with guns blazing as soon as they were challenged and worked in a tight unison, gunning down the SWAT officers in the front row like prisoners in front of a firing squad.

Two males, three females. Both males were dressed in black blazers and a red undershirt, black pants, no ties. The women were wearing revealing corsets and skirts with fishnet stockings and long coats with high heels that could stab through a man’s chest with enough force. Red and black colour scheme, same as the men.

The unity in the fighting, similar clothing, their confidence. No, these weren't common criminals at all. They knew exactly what they were doing and how to execute it, working like dancers on a stage as one went into cover to reload and another stood up and took their place.

These people were gangsters.

Johnny heard a body drop next to him, looking over horrified as he saw Isaac on the asphalt. His partner had his fingers pressed into a wound at the base of his neck above the kevlar vest he wore, a wound that was bleeding profusely.

“Isaac!” Johnny screeched as he rushed to his downed partner and pulled him back behind the squad car. The smaller man grabbed for Johnny’s own vest desperately, any attempts to speak made into a disgustingly wet gurgling noise.

His normally tired eyes were wide open now and fully awake, pain and fear and panic read clearly in them. He heaved his chest in and out in quick and rapid breaths, proving to serve him no good as the air just escaped through the hole in his neck, bubbling the blood that poured out of it.

And just as quick as his panic set in, his body went still and his eyes went blank.

“Isaac?” Johnny shook his partner, as if trying to rouse him from a nap. “Yo, Cox! Man, this ain't time for your fucked up sense of humor!”

Isaac’s lolled to the side and the hand that gripped Johnny's vest went limp.

“Isaac! ISAAC!”

Johnny felt panic stab itself into the pit of his stomach and his hands fumbled less-than-gracefully down to the walkie-talkie at his belt.

“10-53, I've got a 10-53! Officer Cox is down, I repeat, officer Cox is down and unresponsive!” Static was all that answered him and his panic was bubbling into annoyance.

“Officer Cox is _down_ , 10-53!” Johnny looked up to see two trucks pull into the carnage, pointed black with a red roof and red underglow. More gang members jumped into the fray and the officer ducked back down when a bullet whizzed past his head.

“10-53! I need backup, goddammit!”

“I can't risk sending more officers,” Burns’ voice came on over the receiver. “I'm sorry, John.”

Motherfucking _coward._

The annoyance boiled into rage and Johnny let it out with an angry scream. He grabbed Isaac’s pistol and jumped out into the playing field, firing both of the pistols in rapid succession, gang members taking the bullets and dropping like flies. Shots of their own imedded into his vest, the cop barely flinching as he unleashed the hell of his anger.

He felt no pain, his adrenaline and rage so fierce that all he saw was red. He brought the butt of one of the pistols down hard into the face of a gang member behind him, feeling the cartilage shattering from the force of his hit. Once the member was on the ground, Johnny brought his boot down onto their throat.

Another member charged him armed with nothing but a crowbar. Johnny decided not to waste a bullet on this piece of shit, ducking under the swing they threw and grabbing the back of their neck, pulling their face down onto his knee repeatively, not stopping until they dropped lifeless to the ground. He then picked up the discarded crowbar and forced it into the skull of a gang member next to him.

Johnny shot twice at a woman that pointed an uzi at him and she dropped down the bank stairs like a ragdoll. He took out two more with one bullet going through their heads and another got to feel how it was to have their nuts kicked into their body.  Any cop that weren't still shooting at the gangsters were watching Johnny with a sense of awe and fear.

The gangsters were starting to lose their fearless edge, Gat could see it in their eyes and they shot at him. While he was ducked behind one of their trucks to reload, he noticed a member trying to climb into their vehicle in hopes of fleeing the scene. The lieutenant had other plans in mind for them, however, and he sprang back into action, heading straight for the fleeing thug.

They screeched in fear when they saw the freight train that was Johnny fucking Gat coming for them, frantically trying to scramble into the car and _just_ coming short. Johnny grabbed the door before it could close and yanked the member out of the car, letting them hit the ground hard. They tried crawling away but Gat grabbed their leg and dragged them back, ignoring their cries for mercy.

Other gang members watched in horror as this deranged policeman repeatively slammed the car door into their comrade’s head, one of them retching in disgust and shock as the now detached head rolled onto the ground.

Gat turned towards them and they scattered like frightened children fearing the wrath of their enraged father. The man who had unfortunately decided to hock up his lunch got a bullet in the head as his friends all made for their vehicles. Johnny was able to shoot a few more down before they all had gone.

He stood there for a moment and his breaths heaved his chest in a heavy and slow motion, watching with squinted eyes of hate as the gangsters drove away from the chaos they sewed.

“Clear out the remaining hostages and get them to safety,” he ordered the other officers as they crowed around him, but not too close for fear of sparking his bloodlust again. He stopped and looked at Isaac when he returned to his squad car, the downed officer still laying on the ground with no sign of life.

Goddamn, Gat legitimately felt a hard lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow down. That was his friend laying there.

A friend that was fucking dead and there wasn't a goddamn thing Johnny could do about it.

The officer leaned down and closed Isaac's eyes then gently folded his hands over his chest before standing up again.

“Get the paramedics down here.” he instructed lowly, lingering a while before getting in his car and driving back to the station.

He didn't like driving alone.

* * *

 

He'd thrown up twice on the way here. The first time was unpleasant, emptying the contents of his stomach on the side of the road once the adrenaline had worn off and he was left to deal with his feelings on his own. The second time around proved that he had nothing left to give. That consisted of painful dry heaving that left his throat raw and sore.

Julia teared up almost immediately upon him coming into the building. She looked at him with this tiny shred of desperate hope in her eyes that shattered as soon as Johnny shook his head. She'd always been strong, and Johnny’s never seen those beautiful topaz eyes cry before, but once was enough for him.

She had just lost a friend too, so he let her cry into his chest for as long as she needed.

* * *

 

It's been a long time since Johnny's worn this suit. Not since Aisha won that independent artist award two years ago. That had been a time for celebration, joy.

Now it was being used to help carry his best friend’s casket to its grave, his final resting place.

Johnny hadn't cried yet, and he wasn't going to. It just wasn't something he _did._ It showed weakness when you needed to be strong and he needed all the fucking strength he could muster so he could release it in the form of tearing apart every single motherfucker that wore that red and black outfit.

People have told him countless times that he was heartless and cold, jokes said to him that he wasn't even born with tear ducts or they “dried up” after the doctor swatted him on the ass. They thought that because he never cried. He never got sad or upset or depressed.

And they were right, in a way. He didn't get sad, he got _angry_. The hole in the wall he left by the door back at his apartment was proof of that. Isaac was dead and Julia was upset and he was so fucking angry when he got home that his already tightly balled fist went straight through the plasterboard as soon as he opened the door.

White bandages stained red around his knuckles was his accessory for the night.

Johnny had missed the wake because he had still been blacked out from getting so goddamn drunk he forgot who he was the previous night. Julia told everyone that he couldn't stand to see his partner like that. They believed her, but Johnny still felt guilty as he stood over the coffin as it sat suspended over its grave.

He tuned out the religious hack that spewed some bullshit from a book and focused on Isaac’s wife, who stood on the other side of the casket.

She was always too happy and pretty for him, Johnny thought. Isaac was not an attractive man but that never seemed to matter to her. She still loved him with a type of warmth and loyalty that Johnny's never seen before, not even with his own parents or, fuck, even him and Aisha. But right now, that happy and bubbly attitude gave way to grief and Johnny could see her trying to keep it together behind a black veil.

“Mommy,” Isaac's daughter - who was twelve, her birthday was last week, Johnny suddenly remembering the day Isaac came into the precinct back in Stilwater bragging that he was finally going to become a father - tugged at her mother's dress. “When will daddy be coming home?”

Gat closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt Julia squeeze his hand hard but he didn't look at her. He didn't need to. She was here and that's all he needed.

He closed them tighter when once the girl realized that her father would _not_ be coming home, screaming and kicking and crying as they lowered the coffin that her daddy was “trapped” in. She was being held back by her uncle who shot a look at Johnny that said _“This is your fault”_.

He stayed behind, after Isaac had been lowered, buried, and the others couldn't stand to be there anymore. Even Julia had left him about an hour ago, squeezing his arm as she passed him. He just stood there, torturing himself as he read the tombstone over and over.

_“Loving husband, devoted father, loyal partner.”_

Did those words really even fucking matter when you were dead and buried six feet into the dirt?

Johnny wondered what his tombstone would say. Probably something along the lines of _“Here lies Johnny Gat, he was an asshole.”_

And with that thought, the lieutenant turned and made for his car. The very last one in the lot.

He'd probably never come here again.

* * *

 

Johnny hadn't bothered to bring his phone. Anyone who wanted to talk to him could fuck off and wait until he was damn good and ready to carry on a conversation without wanting to bash in the face of the person he was talking to.

When he picked up the device it activated by showing him the time and two icons under it; A speech bubble and a classic phone with an arrow pointed down. They were both from the same person, a number that Johnny had deleted months ago.

A number that he couldn't delete from his mind, no matter how much he wanted to.

Aisha's.

_“I'm sorry about Isaac. I just heard…”_

_“Are you ok?”_

_“??”_

_“Johnny… please answer me. I'm worried.”_

A missed call. Two.

_“Please.”_

Another missed call. A voicemail.

_“Johnny please answer the phone.”_

Gat sighed and dialed the number against his better judgement. He couldn't let her worry like that, no matter how much a part of him was going _“Fuck everyone, let them worry”_ but it hurt him too much to think about doing that to her.

She answered after the second dial tone.

“Johnny?” She didn't sound tired despite the late hour.

“Yeah… Hey.”

“Thank god,” she let loose a breath of relief, sounding as if she had held it in for hours. “I was so worried about you.”

“Surprised you still care,” That came out a lot colder than he wanted it to, but Aisha didn't seem affected by it. She knew him well enough that the anger he felt wasn't directed towards her.

“Johnny…” God, it was so good to hear her say his name again. She still said it with the same warmth, the same love as she always had. “Just because we're not together anymore doesn't mean I don't still care and worry about you.”

Johnny didn't say anything. He just wanted to hear her voice.

“It might be a stupid question, but…” she paused, like she didn't want to finish. Or she didn't know _how_ to. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t okay. He just watched his best friend get buried six feet under and now he was talking to his ex-girlfriend - who he still loved - and it was making his heart pound in his chest.

He needed to lay down. Everything felt like it was spinning.

“I'm fine, Eesh.” he lied.

Aisha knew he was lying but didn't call him out on it. She knew him well enough to know it was a wasted effort.

“Do you need anything?”

A time machine. A second chance.

“No.”

“Well, okay.” she said in a way where Johnny _knew_ she was biting her lip in that awkward, ridiculous way she did. He had always loved it. “Just call me if you do, alright? I'm in Steelport for a while.”

“Be careful,” was all Johnny could spit out. Steelport was dangerous, even with the Saints gone. Especially now with this new gang running around.

“You too, Johnny. Try and get some sleep, okay? I-” He could hear the beginning of a hard “L” on the tip of her tongue but Aisha stopped herself before she said something she'd regret.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

She hung up before Gat could respond.

* * *

 

They could forgive him for not showering this morning, for wearing a little too much cologne to mask up his funk, and even for drinking up most of the coffee.

But their patience wore thinner and thinner the longer he stood in Burns’ office shouting at him.

“‘ _Not in our best interest to pursue’_ ?! They _killed_ several officers, Mark!”

Burns pecked his fat fingers against the screen of his new smartphone, desperately trying to figure out the new fangled piece of technology. Johnny wanted to grab the fucking thing and fire it against the wall.

“We have no proof or reports that suggests that these thugs are anything than just that.” said Burns, not even looking at his lieutenant.

“If you'd open your goddamn eyes you'd see they're too unified to be common idiots that decided they wanted to rob a _federal bank._ ” Johnny said, his voice barely anything other than a low growl. “They've done this before, they're experienced.

“And they're lowlives that don't deserve our time.”

“They fucking killed Isaac!” Johnny snapped, slamming his palms hard against Burns’ desk and causing the other man to jump. By the look on the chief’s face, Gat could tell he wasn't expecting the aggressive outburst and looked as if he were about to have a heart attack.

_Good._

“John,” there was a sharpness in Burns’ voice that suggested that Johnny watched the ground he tread on, as it was beginning to crack. A sharpness that Johnny wanted to dull with his fist.

“I'm sorry about officer Cox, we all are. But he was _one_ officer, it could have been more of our own.”

Gat felt his blood boil in his veins.

Burns must have seen the steam coming out of the lieutenant's ears because now his eyes held a slight fear.

“Why don't you take a step outside, John. Get some fresh air.”

Gat turned tight on his heel and left the office before he snapped and beat the chief's face in with that stupid fucking phone. He slammed the door on his way out and heard a picture frame on the other side fall and shatter and it made him want to break _more_ shit.

When he stepped out of the precinct he kept going and marched right over to his car and got inside. Burns ran out just in time to see Johnny start the engine and begin to pull out of the parking spot. He was, no doubt, planning to confront Gat about the picture frame but went red with rage when he saw Johnny leaving.

“What are you doing?!”

“My job!”


	3. An Offer You Should Refuse

Johnny Gat was not a good cop.

With that being said, there was no further explanation needed as to why he opened fire on red and black gang members when he saw them, guilty of nothing more than standing on the wrong street corner at the wrong time. Or, it was all right in Gat’s book.

They were quick work, shooting them down like ducks in a row. Although, they were really more like deer caught in the headlights of a truck barreling straight towards them. Either way, they were too stupid to move before they got hit. Same principle.

He didn't even bothered getting out of his car to shoot them, he just rolled down the window and let loose.

While driving away from the scene of his own crime he looked at the time on the car dashboard, realizing that his entire day had been wasted tearing into Burns like a child at Christmas. Which had been proven to be a useless effort, but his shift was over and he needed to do _something_ to unwind the coil in his stomach before it snapped.

At a red light he sent a text to Julia asking her to clock him out and then turned down the street towards Technically Legal.

* * *

 

It was no Tee’N’Ay, but it was certainly cleaner. Gat realized just how early he was when he saw that the regular, blindingly bright florescent lights on the ceiling were still on. The bar was open, however, and that's all he cared about.

There was one large stage in the centre and two smaller ones sat on either side of it. The smaller ones had poles in the middle for the dancers and the large stage sat empty. Johnny guessed it was for more “exotic” performances.

There weren't any girls out yet, which was to be expected when it was only six. Johnny made for the bar - which had been his destination as soon as he walked in anyway - and sat down on one of the stools. It squeaked upon heaving his weight but he didn't care enough to get up and move.

“You look like you could use a beer,” said the bartender as she set up the beer taps for the evening.

“I could have several.” Gat groaned as he took his glasses off and rubbed his tired eyes. He then wrapped his hand around a cold and damp bottle when it was slid over to him while the other put the shades back on his face.

It wasn't the same kind Tee’N’Ay had. It tasted better.

“Lights in here a little too bright for you?” the bartender asked, bending over so Johnny could conveniently see her chest over her shirt. As nice as it was, she was doing this on purpose for tips. Johnny wasn't the first guy she did this to and he wouldn't be the last.

Still, it took a moment for it to stick that she was talking about his sunglasses.

“Left my other prescription at home,” he lied. These _were_ his prescription. Couldn't take them off unless he wanted his world to become fuzzy.

Johnny took a pull off his beer and she hummed in disinterest and continued setting up the bar, clearly discovering that the officer wasn't going to fall for her revealing money tactic. She only talked to him again when he needed another beer.

Gat had pulled the condensation soaked label off his second beer and played with it, first ripping away the corners before tearing it in half. He then made a small box in the middle of the two halfs stacked on top of each other with the corners before folding it all over itself and tearing it in half again.

He looked up to see the bartender looking at him with a disapproving scowl, her hand held open towards him. He placed the torn up label into her hand defeatedly, like a kid whose mom just caught him playing with something dead in the yard. Her next look suggested that he needed to get out more.

Johnny had already downed three beers by the time the regular lights had dimmed out and gave way to bright, fluorescent neon that wired all along the walls and floor. Music with heavy bass started playing, growing louder and louder until Johnny couldn't even hear himself think.

Maybe it was better that way. He couldn't get Isaac out of his head and he couldn't get Aisha out of his head and that fucking asshole at Isaac's funeral that looked at Johnny like it was _his_ fault their brother was dead kept popping up every time he closed his eyes.

The officer took a long pull off his beer and finished the half that was left, signalling for his fifth. Once the alcohol was in his hand, Gat - shakily, the drink affecting him faster than usual - stood up and made his way over to the couches by one of the smaller stages. He plopped himself onto the dark coloured velvet with a groan and brought the beer to his lips. A girl seductively sauntered over to the pole at the edge of the stage, straddling and spinning and contorting her body in ways that would make even a yoga instructor green with envy.

The girls were prettier than the ones at Tee’N’Ay, Johnny thought, and younger too. 20s to Tee'N'Ay’s 30s.

Unfortunately, after two songs, the young woman’s erotic dance just wasn't _doing_ anything for Johnny. Maybe his time with Aisha mellowed him out more than he'd like to admit to himself. He used to enjoy these places, they were a good outlet for when work fucking sucked that day and he could just sit back and watch girls with slick bodies dry hump and a pole and get drunk off cheap booze. Sometimes he'd even get a private dance or indulge himself in the private rooms.

Life was so much simpler back then.

But now? Now he had no desire for any of it. None of it seemed like it was worth the time and his money.

Johnny pushed himself off the couch and a dude sporting a very obvious hard-on through his basketball shorts immediately took his place. The cop rolled his eyes and went back to the bar, closing his eyes and sighing in irritation when he put his arms on the counter and could _feel_ them stick. Be it Tee’N’Ay or Technically Legal, the counters at the bar were rarely cleaned. If you couldn't see the mess, it wasn't there. A rule that every strip club followed no matter how fancy they were.

“You don't look like you're having a good time,” said the bartender sympathetically, taking the empty bottle from Gat’s hand and replacing it with a full one. How many was this? Six?

Johnny brought it to his mouth and downed the whole thing in four large gulps. Well, time for seven.

“Work sucks that much, huh?”

“Life sucks.” Gat responded, words surprisingly slurred. Since when was he a fucking lightweight? Normally he could down a whole twelve pack by himself and barely even feel dizzy.

The bartender shook her head when he motioned for his next. “You're gonna clean out my entire cooler, dude.”

“A shot then.”

“Of what?”

“Strongest shit you've got. I don't wanna feel anything.”

The woman disappeared behind a door that lead into the kitchens, Johnny prying his arms off the sticky counter and making a face when the residue came off with his arms and onto the leather of his jacket. She then returned with an unlabeled bottle of bright blue liquid and set up three shot glasses in front of her miserable patron.

If Johnny had been thinking clearly, he'd question what the hell was in that bottle and where it came from. But as he was gently swaying in his sweet with his head swimming as he watched the girl pour the liquid into the glasses, he didn't care if it was bleach. If it numbed him, he'd drink it.

“If this doesn't do it for you, I don't know what will.” said the bartender as she pushed the shot glasses towards Johnny.

He downed all three in quick and easy gulps and almost immediately felt a pleasant warmth enveloped his entire body, shaking his head to clear the dizziness that circled inside of it. The officer put his head down on his arms to keep himself from falling off of his seat, not giving a shit about the stickiness anymore.

“You good?” the bartender asked, poking Johnny's shoulder as if to make sure he were still alive.

“Yep,” he answered simply, enjoying the feel of the buzz in his head.

He could hear voices all around him, men - and women - gathering around the stage as they whooped and howled at the girls as they danced on the poles, patrons groaning excitedly as their laps were grinded against

People were having normal, everyday conversations with each other as if they weren't in a nude bar and a girl was reminding someone not she wasn't to be touched.

Wait a minute.

“C’mon, it's your job, slut. Lemme get a feel.” a man laughed, cornering one of the dancers into a corner.

Johnny turned his head towards the sound of the man’s voice, one eye opened to obverse the situation.

“Policy says no touch,” the dancer said, smacking the pervert’s hand away from her breast.

“Policy can suck my dick,” said the man. “Or better yet, you can.”

“Small objects are a choking hazard, unfortunately.”

The girl screamed as the man suddenly grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall and Johnny sprang into action. It took a moment for him to be steady on his feet, but as soon as he saw the black and red coloured uniforms his adrenaline started pumping.

He tapped the gang member on the shoulder and fired his fist hard into their jaw. Gat told the dancer to get away as her harasser fell to the ground.

Another member smashed a bottle against the back of Gat’s head, the cop grabbing one of the shards out of his hair and whipping around to jab the glass into the member’s eye. They screamed and stumbled away as they tried to pull the shard out and Johnny kicked another gangster dead centre in the chest as they charged towards him.

One grabbed Johnny’s arms and held them behind his back, Gat responding by leaning forward and flipping them onto the floor and stomping on their neck hard enough to crush the windpipe. The first member that he punched had gotten back up and came in with a fist of their own, hitting Johnny once, twice, three times before he went to the floor - that was also sticky.

The patrons had long since stopped watching the dancers and started watching the fight unfolding between the gang members and the police officer. Johnny was even winning despite being drunk off his ass. The gangsters no doubt had to be feeling some kind of shame and hatred and it only fueled them to attack more viciously.

Gat forced an elbow into a member’s face that decided that taking him from behind would be the best course of action, headbutted another in the face and felt their nose crack against his forehead, and grabbed man by their hair and smashed their face into his knee.

He was tackled from behind and his attacker repeatedly slammed his head into the floor until he could taste blood in his mouth. Johnny forced his hands under his chest and pushed himself onto his back, flipping the gangster under his weight. He jerked his head back, smacking the back of his skull into their face until their hold on him released.

He had blood in his mouth, pounding in his ears, and it felt like his heart was taking pot shots against the back of his ribcage but he was having _fun._ It's been a long time, too fucking long since he's had a good fight and no matter how many times Johnny put these fuckers to the floor they just kept coming back for more.

Gat swept his leg under a gang member and forced them off balance, the cop then dropping a hard elbow on their chest. It knocked the wind out of them but left Johnny's entire arm numb as he hit the funny bone.

The discomfort didn't keep him from standing back up though, and he grabbed a member’s face and forced them back, smashing them into their buddy's face with the back of their head. Johnny then swung them around and slammed their head into the brick wall next to them. He clunked two gangsters’ heads together like coconuts and punched another in the gut, then stomped on their balls when they fell.

Gat had a ringing in his ears now and a blood lust that couldn't be quenched even with all of the gangsters lying incapacitated on the floor. He was under no control of his own anymore.

So maybe that was why an arm as thick as a tree trunk wrapped around his throat and squeezed until everything went black.

* * *

 

“These are the strongest I could find,” Julia said as she handed Johnny a bottle of painkillers and his credit card.

The officer hummed his thanks, regretting it as soon as the sound left his throat as the very action sent a shooting pain between his temples. Julia then gently removed Gat’s shades from his face to get a better look at his black eye.

“Not as bad as it could be,” she said, carefully moving Johnny's face by his chin, examining him. “But you're still an idiot. Why did you think it was a good idea to take on an entire group of gangsters by yourself?”

“Yo, I still beat their asses into the fuckin' floor,” Johnny defended, ignoring the pain in his head as he put his glasses back on.

“Yeah, but you could have-”

“Johnathan. My office. _Now._ ”

Burns’ vicious voice cut Julia off to order Gat into the doghouse. Something had pissed him off and Johnny knew that he was at the front of the semi truck headed straight towards him. He gave Julia a look and she returned one of concern as he slowly stood up and sulked his way into Burns’ office.

Burns was tuning a radio to a specific station and turned the volume up once he got it.

_“--Witnesses report seeing the recently recognized officer, Lieutenant Gat, as the front runner of the fatal fight that occurred here at Technically Legal late last night between the officer and several members of an unnamed gang._

_Some local police officers who are familiar with the man say that the lieutenant has snapped after recent events claimed the life of his long term partner, and others say that the stress has finally gotten to him. We here at the station question whether keeping him in power is in the best interest and safety of Steelport-”_

Burns turned the radio off. Johnny would have rolled his eyes if it didn't hurt to so much as even move them to look at the chief. They were just praising him last week for bringing in the last of the Saints, and now they were spewing some bullshit about how he wasn't for for duty.

Typical media.

The chief, however, didn't seemed very versed in the hypocrisy of local news. He just stared Gat down with a harsh scowl.

“I don't know what kind of power you _think_ you have, John, but it sure as hell isn't you going out and killing six people and then turning around and putting three more in a coma!” Burns shouted, noticing Gat's wincing and deciding to play on it. “Oh, am I being too loud? _SORRY!!”_

“They're just gangsters,” Johnny pointed out, one eye still closed as if it were too painful to open. “Who cares?”

“I do!” Burns slammed his hands down on his desk as he stood up, then pointed an accusatory finger at his lieutenant. Johnny regretted not taking any of those painkillers before coming in here.

“I told you that we weren't going to pursue the gang and yet you took it upon yourself to take the law into your own hands anyway!” Burns then uncharacteristically calmed down and sat back into his swivel chair. “That's unacceptable, Gat, and you know it.”

Johnny had a feeling he knew what was coming before it was even said. But he still felt like the frayed thread that had been barely keeping his seams together was torn right out of him at the chief’s words;

“Officer Gat, I am demoting you back down to rookie status for blatant disobedience. You obviously need to relearn what it means to take orders and follow them without question,” Burns didn't give Johnny a chance to retort before adding, “Go home and rest, John. You're relieved for the day.”

Johnny stepped out of the office without slamming the door and breaking something else. He was angry, but it was a different kind of anger. It was an anger that couldn't be unleashed because he longer had the power to do so and get away with it.

An anger that knew that it could no longer go out and avenge Johnny's friend like it desperately wanted to without being fired or jailed.

And once the anger had realized that, it had given away to an emptiness inside the pit of Johnny's stomach that he's never felt before. It made him feel tired, like there was a heavy weight has just sat itself into his gut and onto his chest.

He didn't like it. He didn't like how put down it made him feel. He didn't like that it made him look around for the reaction of others but no one was looking at him. They were all bustling around each other and going about their business like any other day.

But Johnny couldn't move his feet away from the front of Burns’ office. He couldn't move to go and tell Julia what happened, or to go back into the office and laugh because, ha ha, yeah Burns got him good this time and he had to give credit where it was due.

At least, that's what he wanted it to be. A joke. But he knew it wasn't.

It took a moment for Johnny to realize that what he felt was helplessness.

* * *

 

It's been a while since Gat's been home while it was still daylight out. Even on his days off he was never home, he was either at the bar, or with Julia at her house with her boyfriend, or with Isaac at his daughter’s dance recital. Although the latter of all three was no longer an option.

Julia was still at the station, so to hell with that idea.

He contemplated drinking more, but the very thought of alcohol made his head throb so that idea was also short lived.

The demoted officer then found himself sitting with his legs crossed in the middle of the floor in silence, trying to figure out what the fuck to do now.

His mind soon went to questioning why Burns wasn't at all worried about this gang. The man was an asshole but he was smart, he knew his shit. It was why no one's taken his place in the twenty years he's been chief. Burns knew how to suck up to Steelport’s politicians as well, because he _knew_ if you weren't in good standing with them and had their support then you wouldn't be chief.

That was why Gat's been a lieutenant for as long as he has, because he refuses to kiss anyone's ass. Least of all the ass of some stuck up, corrupt, money whoring dickhead who would rather stab you in the back than shake your hand.

But Burns knew how to mold them like putty in his hands in a way that worked in his favor and Johnny had to give him credit for that. The man was a great chief where he wasn't a good person. In the few short months that Johnny's been transferred here he's witnessed Burns command an entire precinct of lazy, shitty cops into a momentary army of justice to take down the most dangerous criminals this city - and Stilwater - has ever seen.

So that's why Gat couldn't wrap his head around why the fuck Burns decided that this new gang, who robbed a federal bank and killed an elite police officer upon their first day being here, wasn't a threat.

Isaac deserved justice, his wife and daughter deserved justice. Julia did, Gat did! All three of them had been friends since he's started and both Julia and Isaac threatened to quit if they didn't transfer them with Johnny. The precinct actually considered letting them, but they realized that they were losing two of their best officers no matter what so they just let them follow.

Now Johnny sat on the dirty and stained - with what, he didn't want to know - carpet of his shitty apartment’s living room, rank stripped, name and reputation tarnished and soiled, and powerless against his friend’s killers.

It was fucking infuriating.

Johnny got up and peeled off his police jacket, letting it drop back down to the floor in a heap and threw himself onto the pull out bed that no longer folded back into a couch. He took his glasses off and placed them on the floor next to his phone after he plugged it in to charge.

His head still felt like a railroad spike was lodging itself into his temple despite taking double the recommended dosage of painkillers. He groaned and flipped onto his stomach, closing his eyes and hoping that just _maybe_ the pain would kill him.

* * *

 

It had to have been late. The apartment was dead silent and barely any cars passed along the street.

Johnny woke up because he felt so overheated that he wondered someone had taken his bed and hurled it into the sun. His light blue police shirt was soaked with his sweat and his black slacks felt like a heat blanket against his legs. He still had his shoes on and his feet were sweating under his socks.

Gat nearly ripped off the buttons of his shirt as he forced it open, harshly tugging it off his body as if it were holding him under a sea of his own sweat. He threw it away into the darkness and it hit the floor with a faint splat.

Next was his pants, tired and half woken hands undoing his belt and then less-than-gracefully shoving the clothing off his hips and down his legs. He pressed his toes against the heel of his other shoe and kicked it off, doing the same to the other, and his slacks followed.

Johnny turned over onto his stomach again and lay spread eagle, huffing hard breaths into his pillow. It felt like he was burning alive and someone had made it worse by pouring a bucket of hot water onto his sheets. Sweat dripped down his forehead when he turned to face the window, the bead falling down and getting caught in his eyelashes. He wiped it away before it could seep into his eye.

Johnny then heard his phone buzz against the carpet as he tried to fall back asleep.

He rolled over onto his other side and swung his head lazily down to see the screen. The number that was calling him wasn't familiar so he just ignored it and closed his eyes, opening them again when they called back. Apparently they weren't going to ignore him.

He continued ignoring them, and they continued calling him back. Over and over again to the point where it was becoming annoying.

He contemplated turning his phone off, so he did.

In his moment of peace he turned back over onto his back and spread out again. The apartment was silent, save for the clock on the wall, and despite the fact that Johnny had probably already lost seven pounds worth of sweat, he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Just as he was crossing into the limbo of REM sleep,

His fucking phone turned itself on.

And that same number was calling him again.

 _Now_ he was a little freaked out, and he wasn't one to admit that readily to anyone, let alone himself. He turned it off again and then took the battery out, deciding he might scream if it turned back on again.

But it didn't. He had started at it for a while to make _sure_ it didn't before, once again, rolling back over and closing his eyes.

Then, just from the hall, he heard a phone ringing.

No. It had to be a coincidence, he wasn't going to buy into this horror movie-esque bullshit.

Johnny tried to ignore it but it just kept ringing, and ringing, and _ringing._ It wasn't coming from another apartment, no. It was coming from the hall, and it sounded close.

The officer got up from his bed after the fifth ring through and stomped to his door and opened it with an aggressiveness that threatened to pull the door right off its hinges.

But he didn't have to go far. The phone was right outside of the door, ringing with the same number.

Johnny picked it up and answered it.

“Who the fuck are you?”

 _“Someone who can give you an offer,”_ Their voice sounded unnaturally low and disembodied. Gat was familiar with this tactic from back at his days in the police academy.

They were using a voice modulator.

_“An offer you should refuse, but also one you cannot afford to.”_

“I don't need your fucking riddles,” he snapped. “I have no patience for it. Just tell me what the hell you want.”

There was a pause on the other line, one far too goddamn long that was good for Gat’s sanity. He was prepared to hang up, when;

_“The people who killed your partner are part of an extremely dangerous gang called the Morningstar. And even they are just a pawn in a much larger game than you can play on your own.”_

A weird mix of anger and sadness welled up inside of Johnny at the mention of his friend.

“How the fuck do you know about Isaac?” he snarled defensively. The details of who Isaac was didn't go public at the request of his family. There's no goddamn way this motherfucker knew about him by any legal means.

 _“You'll find that I know a lot of things, Mr. Gat.”_ they said and Johnny balled a fist at his side. _“There's no need to get angry. I am not threatening you.”_

“Sure as fuck doesn't feel that way.”

The voice on the other end sighed tiredly. _“Your reputation for excessive use of vulgar language precedes you.”_

“... What?”

_“You swear a lot.”_

“No shit,” Johnny spat. “Can you go back to saying what the hell it is you want from me?”

_“I've already said-”_

“No, you gave me some Alice In Wonderland riddle bullshit that made no goddamn sense without context,” he interrupted, his voice rising to show his growing ire. “And Imma need a bit more to go on than just “a deal”,”

_“In due time, Mr. Gat. I just need you to answer something before I give you any further-”_

“I'm hanging up.” Gat said and brought the phone away from his face.

_“Do that and you'll miss out on your one chance to avenge Isaac!”_

He brought the phone back to his ear.

“I'm gettin’ _real_ fuckin’ tired of you pulling my leg,” he said, his voice dangerous. “ _Talk_ , or I'm tracing this call and putting a fucking bullet in your head.”

There was another pause, this one even longer than the first, and Gat was glaring at the floor like he could burn a hole through it. He could hear steady breathing on the other end and he couldn't tell if they were thinking or stalling.

Each were equally annoying and he found that he wanted to climb through the receiver and strangle them with the line either way.

 _“My friend and I believe you can help us if we help you. A mutual exchange of favors, if you will.”_ Johnny remained silent and the voice seemed to have assumed he was listening.

_“The Morningstar is a common enemy we share. Help us destroy them and we'll give you the means to give Isaac the justice he and his family deserves.”_

“What's in it for me?” Johnny asked, voice low and still threatening, but steady.

_“Your precinct is more corrupt than the words from a politician’s mouth, thanks to the Morningstar burying themselves deep into your ranks.”_

That gave Johnny a pause, forcing him to scan over any sign of gang involvement he might have missed. The officers not shooting to kill back at the bank heist, their willingness to throw him under the bus to Jane Valderama, the chief’s _unwillingness_ to pursue the members of the new gang…

Johnny felt his head start spinning again.

_“If you help us take down the Morningstar, we can help you return to your previous position. Or maybe something better.”_

He stayed quiet as his response. They knew about his demotion? Just who the fuck was he talking to?

 _“I'm texting the address to meet me and my friend to the phone you have in your hand right now, should you choose to accept the offer.”_ they continued. _“Come alone, and make sure you are not followed. You do have a choice, Mr. Gat. Refuse and waste away at a precinct that will never again use you or your skills, or help us take down a gang that_ _will_ _tear this city apart.”_

Silence was the only thing that filled Gat's ear now, leaving the phone against it even after it buzzed against his head to indicate a text message. He lowered it and looked at the screen, reading an address that sprawled across it.

Johnny looked up when he heard a door open, seeing as one of his neighbors - the old bitch that always had her TV on too fucking loud - standing there staring at him like he just crawled out of a septic tank.

Gat then realized that he was standing there in the middle of the hall wearing nothing but his boxers and badge.

“Fuck you staring at?” he snapped before turning around and closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's time for the fun part.


	4. Meet the Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck I am so goddamn sorry I haven't been updating. I don't really have an excuse since I'm not working at the moment and I graduated highschool. I've just had absolutely no drive or inspiration to write or finish chapters I should be working on.  
> Though from now on, I'll be writing two or three chapters at a time before publishing one so I can have some kinda steadiness to when these chapters come out.

Sleeping for the rest of the night proved to be fucking impossible. Not only was it hot enough to put the goddamn Sahara Desert to shame, but it seemed like everyone and their mother was getting ready for their day at the same exact time.

Running showers, beeping microwaves, TVs that were too loud, residents in the hallways on their phones, children screaming, for fuck’s sake Johnny could hear it _all_.

The officer impatiently drummed his fingers against the counter while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, trying to ignore the ear-shattering sound of the child throwing a massive tantrum up in 4-A. Although, the longer this piece of shit, dollar store coffee maker took, the more Johnny wanted to march up there and _really_ have that cretin something to cry about.

Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, eyes glaring at the dark liquid as it slowly dripped down into the pot. He could feel a headache already begin to form and the day has barely even started yet. The cop offered his head some relief in the form of rubbing his temple with his thumb as he reached for the pain killers Julia got him yesterday.

Almost as soon as he had his hand around the bottle he heard his phone vibrate against the fake marble counter. For a split second his heart sped up at the memory of last night’s events. The mysterious number that wouldn’t stop calling him until he gave them what they wanted and answered. The number that somehow managed to turn on his phone back on, the number that managed to place _another_ phone outside of his door without anyone noticing.

The disembodied voice that still haunted his subconscious, spewing shit that they shouldn’t have known, saying that they were the only ones that could help Johnny “avenge” Isaac.

But none of those things compared to the deeply unsettling sentence the voice said to him;

_“Your precinct is more corrupt than the words out of  a politician’s mouth, thanks to the Morningstar burying themselves deep into your ranks.”_

Johnny didn’t know what disturbed him more; The fact that this “Morningstar” has been around long enough to blend themselves in without notice, or the concept of the precinct already being so backwards beforehand that it wouldn’t have taken much effort _to_ fit in in the first place.

Johnny then realized that his phone had stopped buzzing.

He scooped the device into his hand and squinted at the screen – the numbers seemingly squishing themselves together without the help of his glasses – and actually felt relief when it wasn’t the number that was harassing him last night.

Johnny hit the call-back button when he found it and put the phone to his ear, holding it there with his shoulder as he opened the bottle of pills.

 _“Hey, was just calling to see if you were awake.”_ Julia’s smooth voice answered on the other line.

“Been up for a while,” Johnny admitted, popping two pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry. “Sorry I missed your call, was distracted.”

 _“Uh oh,”_ Julia tisked. _“What’s wrong?”_

“Huh?”

_“You only apologize for, well, anything, when you’ve either done something stupid or someone else has.”_

She had him there. But now he was faced with a dilemma; Does he tell her what happened last night and where he was going tonight and risk bringing her into a potentially dangerous situation, or keep her in the dark and risk going into said situation alone, giving her no way to know what happened to him if something _did_?

Johnny sighed and leaned against the counter.

“Just feelin’ off today, been a long week.” Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. Enough to keep Julia off of him. “Didn’t sleep for shit either, so maybe I’m just tired.”

 _“You and me both,”_ the woman sighed, the edge in her voice gone. Good, she bought it. She complained about it literally all the fucking time, but Johnny always being vague with her normally actually came in handy today.

He just couldn’t risk it with her. She was _more_ than capable of handling herself. Hell, she’s saved Johnny’s ass more than once, but there were too many unknowns. He didn’t even like going into this darkness himself.

And besides, if this did end up being a trap there was no way he was willing to risk having the precinct losing the last decent cop it had. Johnny knew her well, she would never allow that place to corrupt her and bring her down. Didn’t matter if it were Burns or the Morningstar, nothing could break that woman’s spirit.

That’s what Johnny admired the most about her. Maybe because he wasn’t the same way.

 _“_ _Hey, Johnny,”_

“Yeah?”

_“I… Have you, you know, cried yet? Has it hit you?”_

Johnny sighed. “You know I don’t cry, Jules.”

_“I know, I just… I’ve barely been able to stop. I think about him and I can’t stop myself, or I see something he gave me sitting around my house, or, fuck, even a TV show he liked and…”_

“I’ve thrown up a few times, does that count?” Wasn’t something that Johnny really wanted to admit, but he had to offer something to level the playing field. “A couple times might have been from the booze, though.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips when Julia let out a soft laugh on the other end.

_“Well, since you got drunk because of what happened in the first place, I’d say it counted.”_

“Hey, try not to let it get to you too much, ‘aight? You know as well as I do Isaac wouldn’t want us pissin’ and moaning.”

 _“_ _I’m trying, Johnny. It’s hard.”_

“I know, Jules.”

After a moment of solemn silence, Julia admitted that she still needed to get her uniform on as she’s been sitting on her couch in a towel this entire time and hung up. Johnny shook his head to get the image out of it and turned to face the coffee machine.

Fucking thing was _still_ brewing.

Johnny leaned forward and put his head down into his arms against the counter.

* * *

 

Johnny absentmindedly tapped his pen against his desk. They moved him. From the desk that sat right outside Burns’ office as his second-in-command, way back to the ass end of the precinct. Near the bathroom.

There was a constant smell of shit, piss, and bad life choices. Johnny wanted to break something - or someone - in half. Ever since he walked in the damn door this morning everyone’s had a “Holier than Thou” attitude towards him and it’s pissing him off. So, what, he goes after the people that murdered a high ranking police officer instead of sitting around with his thumb up his ass and suddenly _he’s_ the bad guy?

Burns took away his gun and had it replaced with a taser, too. It was like taking away a child’s favorite building blocks and replacing them with some cheap off-brand bullshit. Especially when every other kid had the blocks that were taken away and he had to sit here with his shitty cheap blocks while everyone else had fun with a good ones.

You know what, fuck analogies. He was never good at them, he just wanted his fucking gun back.

The whole day so far had consisted of cops that used to be below him dropping case file after case file onto his desk and expecting him to enter the information into the database. More than half of the cases hadn’t been solved, and some were even thrown unto his desk as soon as they came in, the cop in charge of closing it barely even thumbing through its contents. Each cop that dropped a file on Johnny’s desk had this shitty smug look on their face that Johnny wanted to wipe off with his knuckles.

But he was already in deep as it was, so he clenched his fists hard against his legs and brought them up to the keyboard of his computer and typed in the entries as he read them.

 _“_ _**Case No.:** _ _5481_ _**Date:** _ _01/28/2014_

 _**Reporting Officer:** _ _Officer Eric Doyal_

_**Incident:** _

_Nancy Richards_ _on_ _came into the precinct completely hysterical, claiming that her estranged ex-husband had kidnapped their daughter and was planning to take her out of state._

_**Actions Taken:** _

_Officer Doyal and a few other officers ran the license plate of Mr. Richards_ _on_ _and found him and the daughter broken down on the highway overlooking Sunset Park. Aside from being visibly shaken and scared, Madeline Richards_ _on_ _was unharmed and returned to her mother, while Mr. Richards_ _on_ _was taken into custody.”_

Least the first one ended on a positive note. Made doing these damn things bearable, if only barely.

 _“_ _**Case No.:** _ _5466_ _**Date:** _ _12/30/2013_

 _**Reporting Officer:** _ _Officer Laura August_

_**Incident:** _

_Kyle Davies came into the precinct to file a missing person report for his cousin, June Summers, who had been missing for over a week._

_**Actions Taken:** _

_Officer August questioned the family on where Summers could have gone, if she had been “hanging out” with anyone suspicious, or perhaps undertaking unusual habits and behaviors. While August was discussing the answers taken from questioning the family_ _with a few fellow officers_ _, Summers’ boyfriend, who had his named legally changed to “Jed”, came in and confused that he killed Summers on accident during a heated argument and couldn’t take the guilt anymore. Jed was found guilty of aggravated murder and tried as an adult. Jed was given life in prison with possibility of parole after 30 years.”_

 _“_ _**Case No.:** _ _5206_ _**Date:** _ _03/13/2014_ _”_

This one came in just today. Must have been before Johnny came in because he hadn’t seen any civilian come into the precinct since he got here.

“ _**Reporting Officer:** _ _Officer Julia Peters_

_**Incident:** _

_Gale Perkins came in nearly as soon as the doors opened for the day, nervous and jumpy as she told any officer who would listen her dilemma. She had been recently beaten by her boyfriend a few days before he stole all of her money and car and disappeared. She expressed that she was too scared to go back home for fear that he may return and hurt her further._

_**Actions Taken:** _

_Officer Peters will stake out near Perkins’ home and wait for the boyfriend to return. If he does, appropriate actions to apprehend Perkins’ boyfriend will be taken to--”_

“John,” Burns’ heavy voice broke Johnny’s focus and the disgraced officer looked up from his computer. The man in front of him looked like he was about to keel over, as if walking to the complete opposite end of the precinct from where his office was was more exercise than he’s gotten in three years.

“I’m going to Smiling Jack’s, why don’t you come with me? There’s something we need to discus.”

“Why not just tell me ‘how disappointed’ in my actions you are right here in front of everyone and get it over with, instead of draggin’ me to some second-rate diner?” Johnny snapped and returned his gaze to his computer screen. Burns grabbed the top of the monitor with his large, sweaty hand and turned it away from Johnny’s view.

“Get the car, John.”

Johnny growled lowly under his breath as he followed Burns out of the precinct, having to be careful not to walk on the chief’s heels as he walked as if moving through molasses. Nearly everyone turned their heads to watch the chief and Johnny slug their way out of the building, Johnny wanting to just pull his hand from his pocket and give them all the finger.

Burns’ car was nicer than the other squad cars. It was the same model as all the others, but purely black with the Steelport PD logo on both sides and a single round siren on the roof. The building didn’t have heating or AC worth a damn, but hey, at least the boss got to ride in style.

The ride to Smiling Jack’s was uncomfortably and awkwardly quiet. Johnny’s attempts to deafen the silence by turning on the radio was met with resistance in the form of Burns turning it off again via a control on the steering wheel.

 _His_ squad car didn’t have that. He called bullshit.

They stopped at a red light above one of Steelport’s many intersections, Johnny looking to his right and noticing the person next to them looking down at their phone, both hands off of the steering wheel.

He looked at them until that nagging feeling in their subconscious told them that they were being watched and they glanced over to him, where he used his finger to point down at the logo that sat on the side of the car. Once they realized what he was pointing at, they quickly put their phone away.

Johnny sat with his head against the seat’s headrest with his eyes closed for the rest of the ride. He’s done his duty for the day.

He actually caught himself almost falling asleep, the only thing rousing him was Burns opening his door and closing it with more force than actually necessary. Johnny undid his seat belt and got out, closing his door with a bit more grace than the larger man.

Upon entering Smiling Jack’s, Johnny’s nose was assaulted by the scent of pancakes, coffee, and sausage all intertwined into one, large, breakfast super-smell. He and Burns sat down at the table nearest to the kitchen’s door. Burns must have been a regular here, because an older woman with the getup of a waitress came right over with her pad and pen at the ready.

“Henry, darlin’, how’s your morning been going?” asked the waitress as she was already writing something down on her pad. Must have been here enough for Burns to have a usual.

“Slow, if I may say. Then again, Thursdays usually are.” said Burns, an admiring smile on his rounded face.

The waitress hummed. “You got that right. It’s not as productive as Wednesday, or as exciting as Friday. It’s like a boring in-between.” she said and Burns chuckled as his agreement. “I already know what you’re havin’, what about this other fine officer here?”

“Just coffee for me,” Johnny said uninterestedly. He was studying Burns’ expressions and body language to try and gauge just how this conversation, whatever it was about, was going to go. He looked relaxed and his current mood seemed calm and almost content, but Johnny knew how easily that could flip once no one else was within ear-shot.

The waitress promised to bring the coffee out as soon as it was ready and turned away towards the serving line.

“So what’d you drag me over here for?” Johnny asked once he got tired of watching Burns’ fat fingers fumble with the delicate screen on his smart phone.

Almost as soon as he asked, Burns turned his phone around and slid it towards Johnny. The screen showed a picture of a girl who couldn’t have been older than fifteen, had long brown hair that came down past her shoulders, and a smile so bright it could replace the dingy lighting of this run-down diner.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“That girl’s name is, or was, Jessica Freed.” Burns began, thanking the waitress as she set down two cups of coffee in front of him and Johnny. “She went missing about three years ago without a trace for her parents, or us, to follow.”

“So what’s she gotta do with me? I was still in Stilwater when this case opened.” Johnny said with the same uninterested tone he gave the waitress. He made a disgusted face at the coffee that just slid down his throat. Not only was it barely even lukewarm, it was so watered down he may as have have been drinking tea. “So again, why are you showing me this?”

“Because you’re the one who’s going to find her.” Burns said over the rim of his mug before taking a sip.

“Come again?”

“You heard me, Johnny. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Burns warned. “I’m reopening the case because I was recently contacted by her father begging me to open it again, and if you want your position back, you’ll find Jessica Freed.”

“So, lemme get this straight,” Johnny started his rundown, leaning back against the stone hard cushion booth with his arms crossed over his chest. “You want me to go on a manhunt for a case that went cold years ago just so I can get bumped back up to lieutenant? A position that barely had anything to offer in the first place?”

“What your tone with me, _Gat_ . Remember that you _are_ a private again and I can easily kick your ass out onto the curb if you continue to speak out against me.”

Johnny snorted. “Don’t act high and mighty, Burns. You threw that same threat at me all the damn time while I was still a lieutenant and didn’t do shit about it.”

“John, I’m serious-”

“Tell me, why the hell should I try to find a girl who’s more than likely already dead if she hasn’t turned up by now?”

“Because I told you to!” Burns’ voice suddenly became loud and rang out through the small diner, its patrons and a few of the waitresses looking over. Burns sighed and deflated a bit for the sake of show, but his eyes still held the danger and anger his voice just expressed a moment ago.

“You don’t get to question me anymore, _John_. You are below every other officer in that precinct now and it would behoove you to remember that. It was the result of your stupidity and inability to listen to simple direction that got you here in the first place, Gat, so you’ve got no right to blame anyone but yourself.”

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ apologize for getting off my ass and doing something about the problem that everyone is so conveniently turning a blind eye to.” Johnny said, now leaning forward with an elbow on the table. “This new gang is already a problem, and if we don’t do shit about them they’re only gonna get worse. The fact that you can just sit there and let this disease spread is fucking disgusting.”

“John, I’m _warning_ you-”

“Warn me all you fuckin’ want, Burns. I don’t give a shit.”

“If you go after this gang after I’ve told you several times _not_ to, Johnathan Gat, so help me there will be hell to pay.”

“I’m payin’ it either way, so I might as well get a head start.” Johnny pulled four singles out of his wallet and slammed them down onto the table before standing up. “I’ll start now. Thanks for the piss-water coffee.”

* * *

 

In retrospect, storming out of a diner when your boss was the one that drove you there wasn’t the smartest thing Johnny’s done this week. Didn’t matter to him, his destination was only a few blocks away.

 _“Change of plans... Coming now. This better be worth my time.”_ Johnny typed into the phone that was “given” to him last night and sent the message. A response of _“It will be.”_ was almost immediate.

Johnny shoved the phone back into his jacket’s pocket and continued his steady pace down the sidewalks. Fuck his shift, some other desk monkey could pick up the reports he didn’t finish. Or shove them up Burns’ ass, whatever came first.

The officer had actually looked over his shoulders a few times to make sure Burns wasn’t following him, but unless his fancy new car had suddenly turned to a run down rust bucket with a shitty paint job like all the other cars he was seeing, he quickly determined he had nothing to worry about.

He jumped when a large drop of water smacked against the lens of his sunglasses, looking up only to discover the looming cumulonimbus clouds looming threateningly overhead. Johnny quickened his pace the more he felt rain droplets on his skin, the area around him growing darker and darker the further he moved forward.

Johnny hit shoulders with a few people on the sidewalks that decided that they owned it, a few of them cursing at him until they saw the Steelport PD logo on the back of his jacket. The rain was starting to come down harder, and as soon as Johnny left the safety of under the overpass bridge he was going to get soaked. He kept his eyes trained to the building numbers of those he passed, repeating the one he was looking for over and over again in his head.

_“24196, 24196, 24196...”_

Why did that number seem so familiar? Something about it was grabbing for his attention but he couldn’t quiet figure out why. He was too busy repeating the number in his head that his mind couldn’t further delve in as to why it seemed significant.

“ _24178, 24182...”_

He was getting closer, passing several large buildings that looked like they had been abandoned and forgotten about years ago. Johnny was now walking on cracked and unkempt pavement as the sidewalk ran out a while ago and he was getting _pelted_ by rain at this point. He wiped the wetness from his lenses and continued looking for the number that still rang the familiarity bell the more he thought about it.

“ _24193, 24196--”_

Finally.

He was greeted by an old warehouse looking building that had rusted bellow pipes and boarded up and broken windows. Its walls were littered with tags and graffiti art made by various small note gangs and kids just looking to vandalize shit. Some of it was actually good and pleasing to the eye, while the rest of it was just a strain to look at.

Still, Johnny couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d _been_ here before. Now that his mind was free of the curse of listing the same number over and over again, it dug through his memories to try and bring this particular building up in a way that would soothe the feeling.

But nothing came up, not even a reason _why_ he would have come here in the first place.

Nonetheless, Johnny couldn’t ignore the way his heart sped up upon entering the decrepit building, listening as his footsteps echoed through the empty space before him. Garbage was strewn everywhere, along with a few piles of what looked to be cloth and clothes in the corner furthest from the door, like someone had been sleeping there.

Further inside was even darker than it was in the front. The windows that were boarded off had thwarted any attempts sunlight made to shine through. It sat even darker with the black clouds that sat in the sky now, making the old warehouse almost pitch black.

He heard the scurrying of the critters that no doubt lived here and the wing flaps of the pigeons that made their home in the rafters above. The rats-with-wings looked down on him, as if they were collectively debating on whether they should shit on or dive-bomb him.

The only thing he didn’t see, however, was another human being.

He was expecting this person, whoever the fuck they were, to be standing there waiting for him as soon as he walked in. Instead he was only greeted by darkness and the very faint smell of stale piss. Maybe had the wrong building?

No, he didn’t. He checked the phone given to him again and read the message from last night. Same number there as it was on the building. He was in the right place in the right neighborhood.

So where the fuck is this asshole?

“I got soaked to be stood up. Awesome.” Johnny growled to himself and turned on his heel, shoving his hands roughly back into his pockets. “Hey, Johnny, come to this creepy ass building that’s a fart away from collapsing in the middle of a shitty neighborhood. You’ll meet someone just as creepy, except they won’t fucking show up and end up wasting your time.”

 _“_ _Would figure it beats going back to the precinct,”_ a voice echoed back to him.

Johnny whipped around to face towards the darkness. “The fuck?” That was it. The same goddamn voice he heard last night, echoing off the walls of the warehouse and straight up his spine. “Show yourself, motherfucker!”

_“In due time, Mr. Gat. Though to be honest, I’m not the important one in this particular game. At least not yet.”_

“What game? Man, if you don’t start making sense--”

_“Or what? You don’t know who or where I am. There’s nothing you can do.”_

They had a point. What the hell _could_ he do? Brandish a pansy-ass stun gun into the complete darkness?

“Why the hell am I here if you were only gonna talk to me through that weird-ass voice thing?”

 _“_ _If I’m honest, Mr. Gat, I’m surprised you showed up at all. You seemed rather uninterested the last we spoke.”_

“The only thing I’m interested in right now is finding you and putting my foot so far up your ass you taste leather.” Johnny snarled.

_“Why? I have done nothing to you besides offer a way to avenge your friend. Don’t you want to avenge Isaac, Mr. Gat?”_

“You don’t get to say his fucking name,” the officer hissed. “You don’t have the right.”

 _“_ You’re angry, good,” said another voice in the darkness. This time it was normal. Low, smooth, but had an edge to it sharper than a knife. “Hold onto that anger. It’s what’ll get you through all the shit.”

A figure stepped into what little light was left in the warehouse. They were tall and lean in build. Their face was sharp and scared, a thick head of black hair on top of their head with a curl hanging down in front of their forehead.

They were dressed in an all black hoodie with purple pull strings, black jeans, and purple and white shoes. They also wore a brace on their left wrist.

Black eyeliner was perfectly drawn along the waterline of their eyes with black nailpolish on their fingernails to match. Though what caught Johnny’s attention the most was the words tattooed onto their knuckles;

“ _Live”_ on the right hand, and _“Die?”_ on the left hand.

“Who the hell are you?” Johnny asked once he took this mysterious person in.

“Ethan Ross. But you can just call me Boss.” they told him, their voice calm and smooth.

“Oh yeah?” Johnny scoffed. “The boss of what? Creepy introductions and the abandoned warehouse fanclub?

“Of the Third Street Saints, jackass.”


	5. Test Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name's Elijah, and my talents include;   
> Not updating my goddamn fics for 6 months. 
> 
> I'd be surprised if anyone's still reading this.

“And I’m the queen of fucking England.” Johnny retorted once he got over the initial shock. “The leader of the Saints died in the plane that crashed into the fucking river.” 

The so-called Boss shook their head. “Or so everyone was made to believe. Would  _ you _ believe that I bailed out of the thing  _ before  _ it went into the drink?”

Gat’s brow raised questionably. “You jumped out of a plane, and lived?” 

“Parachutes exist, dumbass.” the Boss groaned. “Look, believe me or not but I  _ am  _ the leader of the Saints. Or, what’s left of them, anyway. Guess I have you to thank for that.” 

Their voice suddenly went low, dangerous. Like they were threatening Johnny without actually saying anything threatening. The cop’s hand instinctively went to the holster on his hip, wanting to take the taser and fire it against the wall when his hand made purchase on  _ it _ instead of a gun. 

Johnny took a step back when the Boss laughed, unsure of what this potential psychopath was planning.

“Relax, mister Gat, I’m not gonna do shit.” said the Boss, putting their hands into the front pocket of their hoodie. “I’m not mad, not pleased, but not mad that you and your friends managed to do something that  _ several  _ rival gangs couldn’t. Actually, in some fucked up kinda way, I’m impressed.” 

The Boss pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the hoodie’s pocket. The orange flame from the lighter illuminated the crimelord’s face as they brought it up to the cigarette in their mouth. Johnny, thanks to the lighter, was able to see the many cuts and bruises that littered their pretty face. They looked like shit. 

“But,” they said after taking a drag. “You owe me.” 

Gat snorted. “ _ Owe _ you? I don’t owe you shit.” 

“If you want info on the bastards that killed your friend, then yes. You do.” 

Their voice was calm and steady, while Johnny lost more of his cool with every word spoken.

And Isaac. They kept playing that fiddle even though it had a broken string, each one closer to snapping with every note played. It didn't matter to them that every time Isaac was mentioned, all Johnny saw was the fear in the man's eyes as blood drained out of his throat. It didn't matter that every time he had to remember that day, had to see it when he closed his eyes, he felt himself getting closer and closer to ripping his fucking hair out and going on devastating rampage.

They had a leash wrapped around his throat and he had a feeling they were going to tighten it every chance they got.

Johnny already felt like he was choking.

“And if I decide I wanna say ‘fuck you’ and walk out? Then what, huh?” the cop challenged. If they were going to tighten the leash, he was going to try and break it. 

The Boss shrugged as they took another drag, blowing rings out of their mouth with the smoke. Johnny’d be impressed if he weren’t so pissed off.

“Then you can walk right out of this building and you’ll never see or hear from us again.” the Boss explained, and just as Johnny said “Alright,” and turned to leave; 

“But you get to live with the fact that you knew that your precinct is corrupt with the very gang that killed your friend, but you did nothing because you let pride and anger get in the way of acting on what you’re supposed to be standing for as a police officer.” 

Johnny stopped but didn’t turn around.

“So go ahead, walk away and do nothing. You’ll be doing exactly what the Morningstar wants you to. You’ll also only be in the way when  _ we _ do something about them because no one else will. Caught in the crossfire, in a way.” 

Gat slightly turned his head to look over his shoulder. “That a threat?” 

“And if it is?” the Boss took one last drag off their cigarette and flicked it away. Their tone was unapologetic and unimpressed, this only causing Johnny to clench his fists at his sides. 

“Don’t feel like I have to tell you what happens when you threaten a police officer.” Johnny growled, turning into a snarl when the Boss laughed. 

“And  _ what _ happens? You’re nothing more than a disgraced lieutenant, demoted to rookie because he couldn’t follow directions like a good little cop.” 

He clenched his fists so tight that his knuckles cracked. 

“You don’t even have a gun. Just a baby stun toy with the voltage set down so low it wouldn’t stop a toddler!” The Boss’ face then dropped back to its original serious façade. “You can act tough all you want, mister Gat, but you and I both know it’s an act to make you feel better about being less than a fucking mall cop.” 

Gat had his fist balled tight against his leg, and as much as he wanted to drive it into the jaw of the smirking jackass in front of him,  he couldn’t. 

Because they were right. He  _ was _ nothing more than a glorified mall cop that just got paid more. And, fuck, even mall cops had more authority and power than he did now. He couldn’t leave the station to respond to a call on his own,  he couldn’t make an arrest without radioing it in first. Fuck, he practically needed permission to leave his desk to take a piss. 

There wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do without Burns’ blessing and even then it’d be a flip of a coin. And if it landed on its side, Johnny be put even further into the ground. 

So, now he was faced with a dilemma;

Either he never contact this person and their “friend” again and continue pushing papers for everyone else and stand by as his precinct devours itself with its corruption, or work with a criminal mastermind to fight fire with fire and allow a “lesser” evil to gain power over its rival. 

Johnny couldn’t help but feel like it was a double edged sword. No matter what, there’d be a dangerous crime syndicate roaming the streets, pretending that they “owned” the city.  But… He needed more information. He needed to know what this Morningstar was about, what exact threat they pose. Along with the Saints. Gat remembered how they were in Stilwater, their “war” with Ultor, the destruction they caused, the good cops they’ve murdered. Were they really better than the Morningstar? 

Gat  _ needed _ information, but he had a feeling there was no way in hell he was going to  _ get _ that information from the precinct. Not with Burns constantly up his ass and limiting literally every goddamn thing he does. 

So Gat had to bite his tongue, swallow his pride, and accept the position he was in and realize there was nothing else he could do. 

The officer unclenched his fists and let out a harsh sigh out of his nose. 

“Alright, fine. Ain’t like I got much else of a choice.” he said, turning around to face the Boss. He walked towards them, his posture tough and threatening. “But lemme make somethin’ clear right now,” He stopped just short of running into them, having the height advantage over the crime lord by at least three inches. 

“You keep usin’ Isaac against me or as a way to control me, I’ll snap your fucking neck. We clear?”

Johnny’s voice displayed that he’d make good on his promised if forced to, but despite his vicious and dangerous tone, the Boss didn’t look scared or put off. In fact, the bastard looked up at the officer and  _ grinned _ . As if they were impressed. 

“Crystal.” they responded and Johnny turned away again. “We’ll contact you when you’re needed. Keep that phone we gave you close. That way our conversations are a little more… secure.” 

Johnny offered a half-assed wave to show he understood and made his way out of the abandoned building. The Boss watched him leave, waiting until they heard the loud clang of the door closing before bringing a finger to the piece in their ear. 

“You catch all that, Kinzie?” 

_ “Loud and clear,” _ the hacker responded.  _ “He’ll be difficult to work with. Like trying to teach a wild animal how to play fetch. You sure this is a good idea?”  _

“Trust me, he’s the perfect guy for the job.” The Boss turned towards the darkness and walked into it. “Tell me you have an idea on how to get Shaundi and Pierce out?”

_ “I do. I’ll tell you when you get back.” _

The Boss lit another cigarette as they walked further into the darkness, any trace of their frame disappearing as the lighter’s flame died. 

* * *

Saturday. The one day of the week that Johnny didn’t have to go to that hell hole of an office. Sundays wouldn’t have much to offer paperwork wise, seeing as everyone would be out on patrol and just gathering the common ruffians of the city that wouldn’t be worth the time any other day of the week. Johnny was tempted to not even show up tomorrow, either. He doubted he’d be missed, and he wasn’t fond of the idea of just sitting there and tapping a pencil on his desk all day. Julia was still working on her case so she would be sparse, so Johnny wouldn’t even have anyone to talk to to ease the boredom. 

Fuck it. He knew he wouldn’t be missed. 

With a mug of coffee in hand, Johnny sat himself on his couch and rested his feet onto the coffee table and flicked the TV on. It was six-thirty in the morning - the officer wasn’t able to sleep for shit and eventually just gave up, getting up to shower - and the news wouldn’t start its first broadcast for another half an hour. He was left surfing through channels that still hadn’t started their usual broadcast schedule for the day either, showcasing infomercials that were as long as a standard TV show episode. 

Johnny knew he wasn’t going to find shit to watch, so he surfed back to the news channel and decided to wait for them to come on. This particular infomercial was showcasing a sponge-looking product that could - supposedly - cut through grease caked on pots and pans and can even save any that had been scorched. 

Gat had a feeling it was all bullshit, all of these hyped up pieces of shit were. But he had to admit, the marketing scheme was genius. Put a hot girl with big tits in a tight dress and have her bounce around in excitement over a shitty product and horny idiots will call up and buy it all in the - in their mind - off chance that that very woman will sleep with them. Or that other women will because they own a “famous” product. It was all subconscious thinking, though. What was the word for it? Subliminal messaging? Or was that something else? 

Fuck if Johnny knew,  but he  _ did _ know that the people who bought this shit were idiots. He could just go down to the hardware store and buy a wad of steel wool. It was twenty bucks cheaper and would have the same damn effect. 

But, the girl went on in her tight dress, jumping around as she cleaned the “unsavable” pans and the counter for how many bought the damn thing just kept going up. Gat shook his head and took a sip of his coffee, which was a thousand times better than the ass water given to him at the diner yesterday. That shit tasted like someone heated up a mug of water to barely lukewarm, put it on the floor, pulled down their pants, and farted right into it. 

The mental image made Gat chuckle into his mug. 

He still had twenty-six minutes until the news switched on and he decided he needed something to do other than watch this shitshow. So he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and checked it. 

Nothin’. No texts, no calls. Julia must’ve not been up yet. She always texted Johnny in the morning. Something cute like  _ “Good morning, handsome! Hope you slept well.” _ or something encouraging like  _ “Kick some ass today!” _ . Even if he rarely responded, they still made his mornings a little better, and somehow Johnny felt like Julia knew that her texts were appreciated. 

As the officer sat and waited for the broadcast to start, he suddenly remembered the other phone. It sat on the coffee table next to his resting foot. 

When he grabbed it and the screen lit up, Johnny saw that it still had more than half of its battery life. Two days without charge and still going strong. Better than Johnny’s phone, which was already down to 95%. However, there were no messages on this phone either, causing Johnny to raspberry his lips. 

6:45. Still fifteen minutes until the news came on and if Johnny had to continue watching these idiots cream their pants over glorified steel wool he was going to call them just to tell them to shut the fuck up and stick the damn thing up their ass. He sat there and drank the rest of his coffee, still thankful that it wasn’t piss water. That shit left a bad taste in his mouth for hours. 

Speaking of which;

_ “If you want your position back, you’ll find Jessica Freed.” _

__ Johnny was still debating on whether or not his ‘position’ was even worth the damn headache of trying to find a girl who was no doubt dead by now. But at the same time he won’t be able to help the Boss and their friend with shit if he’s unable to access anything in the precinct database. Burns was an asshole. A lazy, worthless piece of shit that had everyone do his dirty work for him. Johnny had no desire to work under the stupid bastard, and if he could, he’d go back to Stilwater in a heartbeat. The only thing he gained from Steelport was a dead friend and a job he hated. 

But if he didn’t play nice he’d be nothing more than a rookie for the rest of his career and that made him useless to the Saints. 

Gat removed his feet from the coffee table and placed the empty mug in their place then leaned down to grab his laptop from under the couch. The older machine took a minute to boot up past the logo screen before it prompted a password. He hesitated before typing it in, as he always did.  _ June2004 _ . His and Aisha’s anniversary. He knew he needed to change it but whenever he did, he could never goddamn remember what he changed it to, always seeming to lose the paper he writes it on. 

Nevertheless, he opens the internet browser and types in  _ “Jessica Freed Steelport” _ into the search bar. It brings up several links ranging from Steelport’s local new websites, donation and charity pages, and what looked to be her social media page. Whether it was actually her’s or someone pretending to be her, Johnny wasn’t sure. He clicked on the link and saw that the recent update was about nineteen hours ago. Definitely someone pretending in order to get attention. 

Sick fuck. 

Johnny then backed out of the page and clicked on the first news link he saw, this one being the most recent as it was posted just a few days ago. It was a news website ran by none other than Jane Valderamma. The reporter had more balls than more than half of the officers Johnny has ever worked with in his career. She pissed him the hell off more times than he can remember back in Stilwater with her tantalizingly amoral questions whenever she caught him for an “interview”. Despite that, though, even he had to admit she had an unbreakable courage and will, especially for someone in her field. She was the only thing that was familiar when Gat transferred from Stilwater, and he even joked that she must have been following him when they last spoke. 

Despite the reminiscing, the article Johnny had found explained that a local girl, Jessica Freed, had been missing for three years. And despite all of the signs pointing towards her never being seen again, her parents were desperate to reopen the case. They had more than enough money and influence to do so, seeing as they were the owners of  _ Freed Exports _ , a company responsible for moving and exporting freight around the world. If something was being moved from one place to another, whether it was national or international, there was more than a good chance that it was being sponsored by Freed Exports. If you found a trailer or container that didn’t have that company’s logo and name slapped on it, then Johnny’d find you a unicorn. 

Nevertheless, the family had more than enough money to support a full fledged search and rescue in order to bring their wayward child back home. She was an only child and the “heir” to the Freed Exports empire, and the couple had released for formal plea to the public for everyone to take their part in locating their daughter. 

Jessica was nineteen when she went missing, disappearing without a trace one night after she had a falling out with her parents, and despite the money, the investigations went cold after so long of having nothing to go on. No clues or leads to where she might have went, no sightings anywhere outside of Steelport, no digital footprint or bank transaction in that name. It was as if she was simply erased from existence but everyone still remembered her. 

Three years later and her parents were still clinging to what little - perhaps worthless - hope they had and begged Burns to reopen the case. 

According to the article, Jessica was last seen climbing out of her bedroom window of her home in Sunset Park and getting into a black car with no licence plates and tinted windows before it headed north to God-knows-where. That, apparently, was the last anyone has seen of the missing girl within the last three years. 

The best Johnny could guess is that whoever picked her up in that car had lured her into a false sense of security, comforted her from any angst she may have had, and convinced her to drop her guard. Then swooped in when they got the chance and whisked her away, had their way and then either killed or left her for dead. Johnny’s seen it hundreds of times throughout his career and this entire situation was giving him nothing to think this was going to be any different.

So, realistically, Gat was looking for a body. Or, rather, the remains of one, and anyone involved in her disappearance and potential murder.

Problem was, he had no fucking idea where to start looking. But perhaps he knew someone who would.

The officer put his laptop onto the coffee table next to the empty mug and grabbed the phone that was given to him. He unlocked it and pressed the message app, his thumbs hovering hesitantly over the keyboard. 

_ “You can find people right?”  _ he texted after getting over himself and his pride. He had a feeling he’d have to do that a lot from here on in. The response, however, was almost immediate.

_ “I found you, didn’t I?” _

Then, before Johnny could reply;

_ “You’re up early.”  _

__ _ “Couldnt sleep for shit. Need your help with a case that went cold a few yrs ago.” _

__ _ “We’re doing your job now?”  _ They, whoever he was talking to, sent a winky emoji after the question mark.

_ “Your helping me get my position back so im not completely fucking useless to you.”  _ Johnny responded, not in the mood to deal with runarounds. 

_ “Jesus, you have a stick up your ass even as soon as you wake up. And it’s *you’re, by the way. _ ” 

Before Gat could tell them he didn’t give a fuck about proper grammar;

_ “Where are you right now?” _

__ _ “My apt.” _

__ _ “I’ll meet you there.” _

__ _ “Need directions?”  _

__ _ “Nope, already know how to get there.”  _

They sent nothing more and Gat sat back on the couch and didn’t know if he should feel creeped the fuck out that they so easily remembered where he lived, or impressed. 

He was gonna go with creeped out.

* * *

The sound of dogs losing their shit outside wasn’t anything Johnny hasn’t heard before as he stood in his bathroom brushing his teeth. He had dressed himself in a faded Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt, jeans, and striped black and white socks that Julia got him for Christmas last year. 

The news was on in the other room, Johnny listening to the weather as he spit soiled toothpaste into the sink, clearing his throat as he did so. It was starting to get cold and soon, much to the man’s distaste, it would start snowing. Today the high was going to be 65° and a low of 50° with a chance of rain. The sky was already overcast, making the day darker than it should have been. 

It was miserable outside and Johnny hated it.

Not to mention, this kind of weather never failed to make Gat’s knee lock up and cause continuous pain. It never fully healed from taking a gunshot to it a couple of years back because he didn’t listen to the doctors when they told him that he needed to go to physical therapy. Now he was paying for it and was probably going to get arthritis within the next five if he hadn’t gotten it already. 

He winced every time he tried to pivot on that leg, so he opened the doors to the cabinet under the sink and fished out his knee brace. With a toothbrush still in his mouth, he bent down and wrapped the brace around his knee, pulling the velcro strip tight enough to apply just the right amount of pressure without cutting off circulation. Technically Gat was supposed to put the thing on under his jeans as opposed to over them, but he hated the way the damn thing felt on his skin. Too itchy. 

With the brace now sitting snug on his knee, he finished up brushing his teeth and did one last throat clearing before rinsing his mouth with mouthwash. He really needed to cut back on the smoking, because coughing that shit up was nasty.

“Christ, and I thought  _ I  _ smoked too much,”

Johnny choked on the mouthwash and coughed it out into the sink, taking the hand towel that sat on the wall next to him and shoving it against his nose as some of the antiseptic was snorted up there in his surprise. And boy, did it burn like a motherfucker. 

“How the fuck did you get in my apartment?” Johnny growled, voice muffled by the towel in his face.

“Door was unlocked. Not very smart, considering how you live in the fucking hood.” the Boss said, crossing their arms across their chest.

“My lock is broken.” 

“Even better.” 

Johnny removed his face from the cloth and winced, rubbing his nose in an attempt to make the burning stop.

“You alright, big guy?” Boss asked, raising a brow.

“Fuck, you ever accidentally snort coke?”

“Yes,” the Boss answered without missing a beat. Then, almost immediately, their face twisted into an expression of realization. “Oh, you mean the  _ soda _ ? No.” 

Johnny shot them a look. 

After the officer was done choking on his surprise, he pushed past the Boss and made his way back to the kitchen. 

“You drink coffee?” he asked, pouring himself another mug. 

“Nah, fucks with my stomach.” the Boss responded, stopping in front of the TV. They noted how fucked up the thing looked. It still had a tower at the back of it - even though tower TVs haven’t been sold in stores since 2009 - and an antenna which was bent and crooked from so many attempts at getting the right signal. At a certain part it was only being held together by scotch tape wrapped around it, as if the owner got pissed off and snapped the thing in half. Which wasn’t really a far fetched thing to believe. 

And it wasn’t just the TV that was fucked, the whole damn apartment looked like as if it was just spat out of a young adult dystopian novel. Wallpaper peeling, leak stains in the corners of the ceiling, yellow colourization of both the walls  _ and _ ceiling from smoking inside. Hell, there were even ripples in the carpet from not being laid properly. 

The outside didn’t look pretty either. In fact, one look out of the window - part of it being covered by plywood - and what awaited the eyes outside made this place look like the fucking Taj Mahal of the ghetto. 

“So are cops actually grossly underpaid or do you just  _ like  _ living in squalor?” the Boss asked, looking under their shoe as if to make sure they didn’t step on a cockroach or something else just as unpleasant. 

Johnny just shrugged as if he didn’t live in a building that was better off being blown up rather than lived in.

“I don’t plan on stayin’ in Steelport for too long. I was only transferred here for one case and was never called back. Plus, I’m spending all of my damn money on storage and car payments that I don’t have enough for another place.” he explained, spooning sugar into his mug and stirring it. “Besides, this place ain’t that bad.” 

“‘ _ Ain’t that bad _ ’? Gat, you can practically hear the rats fucking each other in the walls. Of all the affordable places to live and you choose the goddamn boondocks?”

“Ain’t like I have much of a choice,” Johnny spat defensively. “You call it affordable, I call it ‘six hundred dollars too fucking expensive for a one room loft in the middle of a goddamn industrial city’! I mean, fuck, with all the smog pourin’ into every one of those buildings, it should be payin’  _ me _ rent!” 

Before the Boss had a chance to argue;

“And who the fuck are you to judge where I live? From where I’m standin’, you’re living in a abandoned warehouse that reeks of stale piss and ruined dreams.” Gat brought the mug to his lips. “Compared to that, I’m living in the fuckin’ lap of luxury.” 

Boss opened their mouth to speak, but their sour expression dropped at the tone of the new channel’s jingle as it returned from commercial break. When they turned around to view this so called “breaking news”, their mood turned as sour as their expression was at what they saw. 

_ “Breaking news just came in this morning on the fate of nutorious gangbangers, Pierce Washington and Shaundi. Due to a decrease in budget, and just general spotty behavior of both criminals in question, Pierce and Shaundi’s death sentence will be bumped up to next week, rather than a month from now;” _

Johnny couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he saw fear flood the Boss’ eyes.

_ “We just don’t have the money to keep them locked up for very much longer;” Said the warden of the Steelport Correctional Facility, Johnson Hughes. “And both of them keep causing riots and fights that end up injuring officers and damaging property, and that costs money. More than what we have.” _

__ _ While it’s no secret that both Pierce and Shaundi have violent tendencies, according to officials, the both of them have been nothing but hostile and dangerous to everyone ever since their last court hearing over a month ago. Perhaps they know their lives are coming closely to an end and are attempting to go out with a bang. Or maybe it’s fear that drives their hate fueled rampages.  _

__ _ When we last attempted to question both of the criminals, we were denied access to visitation on grounds of their “unpredictable behavior”. Our hope is to be able to hear their side one last time before they meet the cold embrace of lethal injection-”  _

__ The Boss turned off the TV and gripped the remote tight enough for it to creak against the pressure. They took in a sharp breath in through their nose and let it out of their mouth, as if trying to calm themselves down. 

“We don’t have much time, even fucking less now.” they said, their voice low as they struggled to keep it steady. “I see no point in dancing around what you’re needed for, so I’m gonna come right out and say it;” 

The crimelord put the remote down onto the coffee table and turned around to face Johnny, who was still in the kitchen leaning against the counter.

“You’re going to help me get Pierce and Shaundi out of prison.” 

“Say what?” Johnny said, looking at the Boss over the rim of his glasses with an eyebrow raised. 

“You heard me, don’t make me repeat myself. I fucking  _ hate  _ repeating myself.” 

“Oh no, I heard you loud and clear,” Johnny responded, putting his mug down on the counter behind him before standing up straight. “But I’m wonderin’ how the fuck you think I’m gonna be able to pull that off. You know  _ I’m  _ the one who arrested them, right?”

“I’m more than aware, and it’s only fitting that you help me break them out.” 

“And why the fuck should I?” 

The Boss cleared the distance between them and Johnny by just a few hurried strides and Johnny barely had enough time to react before the crimelord pushed their weight against him and pinned him against the counter, their forearm pressing into his throat as his head hit the cabinet. The edge of the counter was digging into Johnny’s lower back and he had to use his hands to keep himself off of it rather than pushing the Boss off of him. They were surprisingly strong and easily overpowered the cop despite being the shorter of their height difference. 

“Because  _ you’re _ the one that got them in that mess in the fucking first place. Because of you, I’m in danger of losing two of my best friends that I’d take a bullet and die for. Because it should be  _ me _ going to that needle rather than them. And if you have any goddamn shred of hope for getting back to where you belong, to your previous rank, to never fucking seeing me again, then you’ll help me get them out of there or so help me I will tear you down like I have everyone else.” 

Johnny could very well tell them how stupid it was to threaten him, but he knew damn well he had no leg to stand on. He still had no power as a cop, and in turn, no power over them. He could threaten and snarl and bare his teeth all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he knew he was just bark rather than bite to them. 

And it pissed him off. 

The both of them stayed there and glared and growled at each other for a moment before Johnny gave the most flat sounding “Fine” he’s ever given anyone. It seemed to be good enough for the Boss, as they shoved themselves off of him and brushed off the front of their sweatshirt as Johnny rubbed the sore pit of his back.

“Glad we can come to an agreement, Mr. Gat.” the Boss said, their voice still laced with the anger from their confrontation. “Now, if you would come with me,” 

“Tell me where we’re goin’, first.” Johnny protested, internally squirming at the sinister grin the Boss offered him.

“We’re going on a test run.” 


	6. Prove You're Worth It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so shitty about updating this consistently I'm so fucking sorry

Johnny’d be an idiot if he ignored the feeling that something was off about what the Boss meant by ‘test run’, but he had to see this through. 

While he was grabbing his keys and putting his shoes on, the Boss had already made their way downstairs and to the outside. By the time Johnny met up with them, they were looking over his car. 

The car Johnny’s had since he was sixteen. A 1975 Hammerhead painted a glistening white with a long stripe of blue going down the middle. The day he’d gotten his licence was the day his father rolled into the driveway with this car, grinning at the look on Johnny’s face as he was tossed the keys. He could still remember the way his heart nearly stopped in his chest when he heard  _ ‘It’s yours.’ _

Johnny learned how to do the maintenance necessary to keep the car in good shape, mostly self taught with a few tips from his dad. Twenty-one years later and it still ran as beautiful as the day he got it.

The Boss looked impressed, too, their fingers gently tracing across the side of the car as they walked around it. Their eyes were taking in every detail, admiring the car with genuine awe, going as far as rubbing off a smudge on the hood. As Johnny was about to ask what their deal was he was interrupted by a sudden question. 

“Where did you get this?” They didn’t take their eyes of the vehicle when they asked this, almost as if they couldn’t. 

“From my dad. Long time ago.” Gat answered shortly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And it’s a ‘74, yeah?”

Johnny raised a brow, almost impressed that they could tell so easily, even if it was a year off.

“‘75.” he corrected and the Boss looked at him with a light in their eyes he wasn’t sure how to feel about. 

“Your dad managed to snag a ‘75 Hammerhead and he just  _ gave  _ it to you?”

Gat felt like he should be offended. 

“So?” He hated to sound dismissive of the Hammerhead, as he did love it, but a part of him wanted to know what the hell the Boss meant by that. And an explanation as to why they were practically groping his car.

The snort that sounded from them was severely unattractive but the point of them being astonished got across. 

_ “So? _ Only four hundred of these made it into production, two hundred and fifty passed inspection and only  _ seventy _ were sold in the United States before the model was discontinued in ‘77.” They had made their rounds over to the side Johnny was on and leaned against the passenger side door, imitating Johnny as their arms crossed over their chest. 

The officer’s arms dropped down as their hands retreated into his jeans’ pockets, his other eyebrow joining the raised on on his head as his eyes widened in disbelief. The Boss knew more about cars than Johnny had originally thought.

“Do you have  _ any  _ idea how lucky you are to have this? Always wanted to drive around in one of these…” 

“Well, some dreams just don’t come true I guess.” Gat said coldly as he marched to the driver side of the Hammerhead. “‘Cause you ain’t driving this one.”

“Not even if I said please?” 

Johnny said nothing, lowering himself into the driver’s seat.

“What about pretty please?” 

He closed the door and put the key into the ignition. 

The Boss sighed and opened their door. “Fine, then I guess riding in one will have to suffice. Let’s go.” 

“What, you don’t got your own car?” 

“I stole the one I drove here and I’m pretty sure the feds already ran the plates,” 

Gat tilted his head towards them just enough to give them a side glare.

“I mean, unless you  _ want _ to be caught in a stolen car with a known criminal and tarnish your reputation even more…” 

Gat didn’t take his eyes off the crime lord as he roughly turned the ignition. He was getting really sick of this blackmail bullshit. 

The Boss was practically bouncing in their seat as the engine roared to life, a mischievous grin spread across their lips that made their eyes crinkle and harshly expose the crows feet already digging into their skin. Their hand reached for the radio’s controls as Johnny pulled out of the lot, contemplating smacking it away. But he didn’t, even as they changed it from his station.

The station they switched it to was playing a song by Deftones. Change, to be exact. Good song, good to listen to when pissed off.

“Sweet, I fuckin’ love Deftones. Got to see them live once, it was fucking amazing.” 

Johnny said nothing in response. As he pulled up to a red light he noticed that the Boss wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. When he mentioned to put it on, Boss snorted and didn’t move, telling the officer that seatbelts were for pussies when the issue was pressed. 

Gat moved past the now green light and sped up enough to get ahead of the other drivers behind him, this seeming to excite the Boss as they sat on the edge of the seat with that same grin from before. So Johnny sped up more, ten miles above the speed limit, twenty, twenty five.

Then slammed on the breaks, Boss’ head slamming against the dashboard with a satisfying thunk. They let out a harsh curse as they rubbed their now sore forehead. 

“Sorry,” Johnny said in a tone that suggested he was not sorry at all. “Thought I saw a squirrel. Wouldn’t’ve happened if you had your seatbelt on, though.”

The Boss side eyed the officer as they yanked the seatbelt out of its port, glaring at the man next to them the entire time they put it on. 

“Turn right at the next street,” Boss said, now sitting back in their seat with a look on their face that suggested that they were pouting. A red mark was developing on their forehead and Johnny had to keep control of himself to avoid laughing. Nevertheless, he turned where directed, even if he didn’t know where the hell he was being taken.

The further he drove into the more destitute and unfamiliar areas of Steelport, the more his chest tightened with anxiety. The Boss knew he was responsible for getting their lieutenants locked up and sent straight to death row. They said they wanted his help with busting them out, but how did he know if that was the truth or just a lie to get him someplace where no one could hear him if he cried out? Where the Boss could just shoot him in the head with no one to witness?

He was harshly cursing Burns’ name right now. Being without a gun when there was a possibility that his life was in danger was like a firefighter going into a burning building without their gear. The odds were not in their favor and both would end up with smoke in their lungs. 

Johnny tried to keep himself leveled, the person sitting next to him fueled their ‘career’ - if you could call it that - through the fear of others. And he had a feeling, even if a bit ridiculous, that they could sense it. Feel it, somehow. 

A side glance revealed the Boss slumping down in their seat, eyes focused on the screen of their phone. They were texting someone, Johnny couldn’t tell who. Their contact was just the phone number, as if the Boss either didn’t care enough to add whoever it was into their contacts or if they were trying to protect their identity. 

Their eyes moved to look at Johnny, the cop quickly averting his eyes hoping that they didn’t catch him staring. They said nothing, just stared at him and Johnny could feel their eyes boring into his temple. 

“Turn left again up here, then you’re gonna turn right almost immediately.” they instructed as their attention returned to their phone after it blipped with a notification. 

As Gat, once again, turned were told, Boss began to sit up in their seat. They stuffed their phone into their hoodie’s pocket as they took off the seatbelt. Gat opened his mouth to tell them to put it back on as they told him to pull into an empty lot.

It belonged to a building that looked more run down than the first abandoned warehouse Johnny met the Boss in. Long empty shipping containers blocked off view to the entrance at the right angle, winding stairs that led to the roof looked rusted out and that they would collapse with anything heavier than a bird stepping on them. Above his head was a massive crane - no doubt used to move the containers - that looked like it hadn’t been years in decades. It creaked and whined worryingly, Gat suddenly becoming very uncomfortable standing under it, even more so considering how his car was parked under it.

At the very tip of it was a very dull red light that blinked and flickered to a non-existent beat. Gat wandered over to one of the forgotten shipping containers and wiped away some of the grime, his face twisting in disgust as he rubbed it off from his hand onto his jeans. Sure enough, there was the logo for Freed Exports. It was faded and rust was clawing over it, but it was there. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to make sure it would have been there, but maybe it--

“Alright,” Boss interrupted Johnny’s mini investigation as they kicked an empty can out of their path. The entire lot was littered with garbage and random rolls of toilet paper. At least the homeless wouldn’t be wiping their asses with leaves or newspaper. 

“There’s a reason I brought you out here, and as I mentioned earlier we’re running out of time, so I would like to get this done as quick as possible.” 

The Boss held their fist into the air and snapped loud enough for it to echo across the entire lot. Soon Johnny found himself surrounded by men and woman wearing a mix of purple and black, golden chains dangling from their necks, brass knuckles were shining in what little light shone through the clouds. Some were cracking their necks and knuckles in anticipation, others had a grin on their face that looked taught, as if they had taken a page from Boss’ book about looking like a fucking sociopath. 

These people looked rough, tattoos on almost every inch of their body, nasty looking scars, and a feral look in their eyes to complete the look of a predator. Johnny felt like he was just thrown into the lion’s pen. 

The Boss had sauntered away from the crowd and up the rusty stairs leading to the building’s roof, stopping just before the third flight. They leaned onto the railing, the metal creaking as their hands gripped it, their watchful eye looking over the people that surrounded the officer.

“The hell is this?” Johnny asked, his voice unsteady enough for him to hate himself for it. 

“This is where you prove you’re worth it,”  

“I don’t--” a fist slammed hard into Gat’s cheek, the metal of the brass knuckles tearing at skin and he could taste blood immediately flowing into his mouth. Before he could recover he gained an uppercut straight to the jaw, causing him to stumble back and have his knee - the bad one, no less - kicked out. 

He tried crying out in pain but was thwarted by a harsh kick in the ribs. As soon as he was on the ground he was pummeled by kicks, to the ribs, the head, the shoulder. One even straddled him and punched him so hard he thought he blacked out for a second. 

“Make ‘em bleed, Saints!” Boss called down from their perch. 

Saints. These were gang members. Of fucking course. 

Once the ringing in Johnny’s ears stopped, he jammed his thumb into the eye of the Saint on top of him, pushing them off as they held their face and screamed. He hooked an arm around a leg and elbowed the knee so hard he heard a sick crack and the scream that sounded from the other Saint made his ears ring again. 

He was finally able to stand back up, only to be greeted by another fist right to the mouth. His teeth scraped against his lip and sliced it right open. The force of the punch causing him to stumble back into the arms of a gang member behind him who only shoved him right into another fist. Gat caught the next that was swinging towards him, bending the wrist the opposite way it was supposed to before pulling the Saint towards him and knocking their lights out. 

Without even looking he swung his elbow behind him as hard as he could and made contact with a Saint’s face. He could hear the cartilage in their nose snap, the Saint kneeling down and wailing as blood oozed from between their fingers. Johnny gained a brass knuckle to the gut, the air being knocked out of his lungs as another fist slammed into the side of his head. 

A Saint hooked their arms between Johnny’s and held him there with a surprising strength as another gang member went ape on his gut. The Saint paused for just a moment long enough for Johnny fire his foot right into their nuts and threw his head back into the face of his captor as the one hitting him went to the ground in pain. Once he was let go, he spun around and grabbed the Saint by their shirt and headbutted them hard enough to knock them out. 

Gat could feel his head spinning from the blows it had taken, blood was trickling from his mouth and it was all he could taste in his mouth, his stomach turning at the amount he was accidentally swallowing.  

His breath was heavy as he looked at the Saints all stalking and circling around him like vultures, whooping and hollering as some lunged forward in an attempt to intimidate him. Johnny looked up to where the Boss was, their expression unreadable and focused as they watched the officer’s every move. In his distraction, a Saint jumped onto his back and curled their bicep around his neck tight enough to make sure he couldn’t breathe. He clawed at their arm as he struggled to take in a breath, Saints all around them cheering on their follow gang member to ‘choke him out’. He was starting to lose strength in his knees, he needed to do something fast. 

He backed up towards the container he was looking at earlier and slammed his attacker right into it. He was aiming for the corner of the container but somehow kept hitting the side. The Saint on his back decided to cover his mouth with their hand and Johnny took the opportunity to twist his head just enough to where his mouth was right over their middle finger. 

This was gonna be gross. 

He bit down until blood that wasn’t his gushed into his mouth and the Saint screamed bloody murder in his ear. They let go and dropped to the ground, cradling their gnawed on finger as as they wailed and howled. Johnny grabbed them by their stupid beanie and slammed their head against the container as hard as he could, their screaming stopping as quickly as it started. 

As Johnny fought off the Saints that jumped him, he felt the adrenaline seething throughout his veins, like his body was on overload and any further exertion would cause a meltdown of deadly proportions. But despite the fact that he was in an excruciating amount of pain, he felt as if he’s done this before. As if he’s been in this exact circle, taking the beating of his life in order to prove something. At this point in the fight it didn’t even feel like he was in control of his own body, almost as if it was merely muscle memory. 

With every contact he made with his fist he felt his blood boil hotter, with every kick it awakened a primal rage within that could only be sated by making those around him hurt and feel pain. When he grabbed another Saint by their shirt and pounded their face in until their body went still he made a chilling realization. 

He enjoyed this.

He enjoyed the fighting, the blood, the screaming. He enjoyed the adrenaline as it flowed painfully through his veins like a fire that didn’t want to be put out, seeing the look of fear in these criminals’ eyes just before their world went dark, the heartbeat that pounded between his temples. 

It was him grinning now, striking fear into the hearts of the Saints that came near him. 

He snatched an arm that had reached for him, slamming the heel of his palm into the elbow and watching as it snapped and bent the opposite way, the screaming drowning out his laugh as he grabbed another Saint and threw them to the ground, their head bouncing off of the asphalt. 

As much as Johnny was enjoying this, however, he was getting run down. For every Saint he knocked out, two more took their place, each stronger and tougher to take out than the last. Gat was starting to take more hits, his vision was starting to blur, and he felt dizzy. It felt like he was about to collapse.

He was grabbed by a man twice his size, his abnormally large hand gripping around Johnny’s throat and lifting him off the ground. His legs dangled and kicked as he clawed at the brute’s hand, choking as it constricted tighter, thwarting any chance of breathing. Johnny thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head, his lungs were screaming for air and his legs slowly stopped struggling. 

Gat’s arms suddenly felt like lead, forcing himself to keep them up in order to try and pry the hand off of his throat. Eventually they dropped and he started to see darkness creeping into his eyes, the Saints that surrounded him looked nervous, worried, even. Funny, seeing how they were just beating the fuck out of him a few minutes ago. 

Johnny heard a familiar voice frantically call out  _ “Enough! That’s enough!”  _ but couldn’t make out who it was, his hearing was starting to fade. His vision blurred and darkened and the last thing he heard was  _ “I fucking said stop!!”  _ before he was dropped to the ground and the world went dark.

* * *

Consciousness slowly faded back into the Gat’s head, unable to open his eyes as his eyelids felt like they were sewn together. He could hear voices, but could barely make out what they were saying. Someone was touching him, dabbing something against his face. 

_ “--said rough him up, not kill--” _

Gat knew that voice. They sounded angry. 

_ “Christ, you guys -- held back. -- gonna be feeling this for -- while…” _

Now they sounded concerned, as if Johnny’s well being actually meant a goddamn thing. He couldn’t make out their next words, he just knew whoever they were talking to were dismissed harshly and he felt something dab against his lip. Something soft. 

Johnny’s eyes slowly blinked open, startling who was in front of him. It was Boss. They were without their hoodie, wearing only a tank top that exposed the large tattoos on their arms. One arm was completely covered in tribal markings, while on the bicep of the other one looked like a winged ‘S’ with the word Saints written in a banner. There was an outline of a fleur de lis that wasn’t filled in on their neck and Johnny could swear he saw the ends of teardrops pointed away from their pecs. 

Then of course there were the tattoos on their knuckles that he saw when he first met them. Fitting that the hand with ‘Live’ was positioned near his face with a bloodied cotton ball held in their fingers. 

“Didn’t think you’d be awake yet,” they said in a gentle voice, their touch just as as they dabbed the clean side of the cotton ball against Johnny’s busted lip. “You fell hard.”

“Tends to happen when..” Christ Johnny’s voice was hoarse, and his throat was drier than the fucking Mojave. He swallowed and winced at the burning feeling it caused. “When you’re choked out like that.” 

“Yeah… Sorry about that. He got a little overzealous, thought you were a threat.” 

Johnny just hummed and closed his eyes for a second before opening them again. He lifted a hand to scratch an itch on his cheek and hissed as he recoiled his hand. He went back to touch it gently this time and felt what seemed to be a suture sewed into a wound. He looked over to the end table next to the chair he was sitting in and saw a bottle of rubbing alcohol, peroxide, and a bloodied needle with thread still tied to it. 

“Stitches…?” was all he could rasp out. 

“I cleaned the needle before I did them, don’t worry.” 

“How in the…” 

“I’ve been in this business a long time, Johnny. You learn to clean and stitch your own wounds to avoid hospitals.” 

Johnny wasn’t sure if he should feel impressed or eerily concerned that the Boss could stitch a wound so well, but it was clean and didn’t hurt unless he touched it so he wasn’t going to think too hard about it. He watched as the crime lord threw the soiled cotton ball into a tiny trash can next to the stool they were sitting on and grab another from the table, along with the bottle of peroxide. They poured out just enough to soak the cotton and left it hovering over Johnny’s lip. 

“Well, now that you’re awake, this’ll probably sting a bit.” 

Johnny didn’t say anything, he just snorted. This caused the Boss to smile a little as they pressed the cotton ball against the split in Johnny’s lip. He winced and drew in a sharp wince, the Boss apologizing lowly as they continued to dab at the wound. 

“Gotta clean it, big guy. It’ll stop stinging in a second. You took one hell of a beating.” 

“Yeah, speaking of that,” Johnny started as he repositioned himself out of a slump. “What the  _ fuck _ was that?” 

“Canonization,” Boss answered simply, sighing when that didn’t seem to satisfy the man in front of them. “Look, I’m the only one aside from the person who helped me find you that knows you’re a cop. If the rest of the gang finds out what you are it’d cause a huge shitstorm and I  _ just  _ regained control after the Syndicate incident. I had to put you through what everyone who joins the Saints goes through.” 

“So you beat the shit out of each other as some sort of fucked up initiation?” 

“It toughens you,” Boss snapped “Lets me see if you can take a punch without being a bitch about it and if you can fight back even when you know the odds are against you. Being a Saint isn’t some fucking pastime these guys have, they’re gang members. They’ve been shot at, stabbed, burned, and everything in between. There isn’t anything soft about being in the Saints and if someone can’t handle being canonized, then they sure as fuck won’t be able to handle being a Saint.”

The Boss went back to gently dabbing at Johnny’s lip, the stinging steadily going away as the peroxide did its job. The officer was… almost presently surprised with how careful the Boss was about patching him up. Their hand was steady, eyes focused, and he had no doubt that they’ve done this a thousand times before. They were sitting rather close to Johnny, leaning in enough for him to be able to just barely catch the slight smell of their cologne. 

It smelled expensive, and coupled with the faded smell of tar from cigarettes they  _ smelled _ the part of a dangerous crime lord. 

Wait. That was weird. Stop smelling the Boss, Johnny.

Gat thought back to when he was being held off the ground by that brute, how he could feel his lungs catch fire as darkness began to consume his mind. To the Saints he hit hard enough for them to fall to the ground like dead weight, to the Saint he nearly bit the finger off of. All the blood that he lost that made him feel dizzy and disoriented. 

“Has anyone ever died during a canonization?” he asked suddenly, apparently taking the Boss off guard as they pulled away. 

They were quiet for a minute, eyes to the floor as if they didn’t want to look Johnny in his, almost as if they were ashamed and didn’t want to admit something. They looked back up and went right back to cleaning his lip. 

“Yes.” Their tone was flat, emotionless. “I’ve had Saints die, recruits have died. Sometimes someone goes a little too far.” 

“Like that fuckin’ brute that choked me out?” 

The Boss stayed quiet and Johnny didn’t push the subject. He just let them finish up with his lip before they moved on to cleaning the blood off of a cut above his eyebrow. This one didn’t sting as bad as the cut on his lip, but it was still enough to cause him to flinch when the peroxide touched it.

They pressed one of those small white bandages used to pull the skin together on the cut, then another one before sitting back to admire their handiwork. They smiled at Johnny and he suddenly felt… a warmth spread through him. It was another situation where it felt familiar, like he and Boss had done this before. But that was impossible, he’s only known the Boss for a few days and this is the first time they’ve been in the same room for more than a few minutes. 

So why the hell did it feel like he had nothing to fear, like he was safe with this dangerous, well known crime lord? Why did it feel like they cared about him, and that he gave more than even a sliver of a fuck about them? Why did that smile fill him with such a familiar warmth? Have they actually known each other for much longer than Johnny thought and he just didn’t remember them?  

No, there was no goddamn way. He didn’t even know they existed a few days ago aside from a few stories that sounded like urban legends. Stilwater Butcher? That had to be a horror story, he used to think. He’s never met them before transferring to Steelport, he decided. 

“For what little it’s worth, though,” Boss spoke up. “I’m glad you made it through.” 

Johnny couldn’t stop himself from smiling.


	7. Update (Not a chapter)

First off, I am. SO fucking sorry that the updates with this fic have reached a complete and utter standstill. My life has taken an awful dive in the last few months and my inspiration and motivation to write has been non-existent. I face homelessness in about a month and a half, one of my best friends killed himself two weeks ago, and my dysphoria and lack of self worth have been eating me alive. So I'm discontinuing work on this fic. 

But, 

I'm also going to completely redo it. I'm not happy with a few things that I'm doing and I have ideas on how to make it better and easier to read. I'm not sure when I'll be able to post any of the new chapters, but I promise it'll come out some day soon. For now I'll still keep up the old chapters just to keep you guys in the loop of the plot, because that's something that isn't changing with the revise. 

Thank you to everyone who reads this fic, even if the updates are six months apart. (I'm going to be better about that come the new fic, I promise), and bless everyone who's still following along. 

Love u all  
\- Elijah


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